


A Good Dancer

by HopeCoppice



Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Complete, F/M, OK so it does get a little steamy, Scandal, escape from arranged marriage, implied rape threats, it's het, oh my gods, some implied raciness but nothing very graphic, sorry M-lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 26,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't need anyone to rescue me." She took a sip of her drink, glaring at him over the rim, but he seemed supremely unconcerned.<br/>"Of course not, but I saw the opportunity for a little peace and quiet and... well, perhaps you really would care to join me in a dance?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For redrachxo, because she liked the sound of it.

Vlad's coronation had gone surprisingly smoothly, and for once the traditional masked dance after the ceremony hadn't been cancelled. Ingrid was horribly conscious of the lustful eyes of every male in the room on her as she made her way delicately across the dancefloor, looking for somewhere to hide out for a moment. She hadn't thought - she'd known she would be a prize for those disgusting, power-hungry creeps who called themselves Clan Leaders, but it hadn't occurred to her that she would find herself surrounded by them now. Even as she glanced around, picking up a goblet of blood as an excuse not to dance, she saw two of them start a fight and get themselves firmly evicted by Bertrand and his hand-picked security detail. Vlad insisted on calling them 'The Chosen Guard' but out of all of them, there was really only one _Ingrid_ would choose to spend any length of time with.

"Excuse me. A dance, please?" Poor English skills might have been an excuse for his abrupt phrasing, but she knew this Elder was just as fluent in English as Ramanga was. Speaking of that loathsome excuse for a vampire, he was eyeing her speculatively too from across the room, and the moment he saw her glance at him he began to make his way over. She scanned the room surreptitiously for guards; their leader seemed to have disappeared but there were plenty still milling around as well as the small group clustered near Vlad, trying not to look too obvious.  
"Ingrid. Might I have this dance?" It didn't matter how nicely they asked; her consent was really only a formality if they wanted to dance with her. If they wanted to do almost _anything_ with her, in fact, legally speaking. In practice, she liked to imagine she'd claw their eyes out if so much as a finger strayed outside the bounds of propriety... but she wasn't sure she'd dare.

"I'm afraid the Lady Dracula has already promised her first dance, and possibly subsequent dances, to me." She looked up in amazement; she didn't immediately recognise the vampire stood before her, masked as he was, but something in the respectful way he held his hand out to her suggested that he might actually not be as pushy as he seemed. "I wondered if you might like to dance now, but I'm content to wait if you would rather." Besides, the new title Vlad had bestowed on her at the same time as he assumed his own new role had slipped so easily from his tongue, she couldn't believe he hadn't known it was coming. That meant he was someone Vlad trusted - or so she hoped. Yes, she had a sneaking suspicion... still, she wouldn't be bossed around by anyone, however grand a Clan Leader his elaborate cloak suggested he was.  
"Perhaps you would keep me company," she suggested delicately, "while I finish my drink."  
"Of course." He nodded formally, head bowing just slightly lower than she'd expect from most vampires of his apparent status, and the others slunk away looking disappointed.

"They're going to start plotting to kill you off, you know." He nodded with a shrug.  
"Yeah, but no-one's managed it yet." Now he'd dropped the accent he'd been affecting, it was impossible not to recognise him. She'd suspected as much.  
"Where did you get the cloak, Bertrand?" He chuckled.  
"From the dust of another, as is traditional. Of course, I'm not taking any title with it; you just looked like you were being swarmed."  
"I don't need anyone to rescue me." She took a sip of her drink, glaring at him over the rim, but he seemed supremely unconcerned.  
"Of course not, but I saw the opportunity for a little peace and quiet and... well, perhaps you really would care to join me in a dance?" His eyes, through the holes in his mask, bored into hers and she set aside her goblet, intrigued by what she saw there.  
"Perhaps I would." 

She took his hand and he led her out into the crowd of dancing couples, making her a grand bow before taking her courteously into his arms and beginning to move with practiced ease.  
"I didn't know you could dance," she murmured, shifting a little closer to him as she felt hungry eyes on her back. Bertrand directed a steely glare at the perpetrator as she continued, "You know what they say about good dancers?"  
"In front of a lady such as yourself?" He chuckled. "I imagine they say very little, but then I'm sure you prefer to find such things out for yourself anyway." He was allowing the proper distance between them to be eroded with every step, and she realised with a start that she was the one so recklessly closing the gap.  
"You're right. I do prefer to find out for myself." She leant in close. "Why don't we take a walk, and you can show me what _else_ you're good at."

He didn't answer, just offered her his arm and led her out into the gardens of the lavish palace that now belonged to her brother.  
"Let me show you my favourite bit." He led her confidently through the darkened grounds, the lights and music fading away as they crossed wide lawns and disappeared between hedges. Of course Bertrand's favourite part of the garden would be a maze; she had a vague feeling that she should probably be worried about their sudden isolation. If it had been anyone else leading her through twisting paths - never hitting a dead end - she might have been suspicious of his motives. But Bertrand simply brought her to a beautiful courtyard garden at the centre of the maze and gestured around him. "Not bad, right?"

It was _amazing_ ; a stone bench allowed visitors to rest as they took in the stunning arrangement of lanterns and candles that lit the night-flowering roses all around her. She sank onto the bench and gestured for him to sit beside her, smiling as he removed his mask before doing so. She took her own off and pulled him close.  
"You want to be a Lord, Bertrand?" He shook his head, lips mere inches from hers.  
"No, Ingrid, but I can't deny that I want _you_." She smirked cruelly.  
"And what makes you think you're worthy?"  
"I know I'm not." She hadn't been expecting that. "I merely hoped you would allow me to assist you in avoiding unwanted attentions."

After a long, intense moment in which their eyes locked and she processed this, she leant forward and brushed her lips against his for the briefest second.  
"I want _your_ attentions." He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her back, properly. It was as if he was savouring her lips on his and then, eventually, barely daring to relish the taste of her on his tongue. When he tried to pull away, she held him firm, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "Is it true, what they say about good dancers?"  
"That they fall for the best women and take them to the most beautiful gardens?"  
"That they can melt the iciest heart with a kiss and a gentle touch." She scoffed at the sentiment even as she waited on tenterhooks for his answer. When it came, it sent warm shivers of delight racing down her spine.  
"Shall we find out?"

* * *

 

She woke to find a hand gently shaking her shoulder, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. Lying on cold stone though she was, there was something slightly softer supporting her head... _someone's leg - oh blood_. She sat upright, vaguely aware of a cloak slipping off of her body, and looked up into the amused eyes of...  
"Bertrand," she murmured in relief, "I thought..." He simply stood, stretching his leg carefully before reaching down to pick the cloak up and drape it over her shoulders. It was his cloak, she realised, or rather the one he'd stolen. She did a quick check of her clothing; it all seemed to be as she remembered it, he hadn't taken advantage of her drowsiness. She wasn't surprised, as such - this was _Bertrand_ they were talking about, after all - but it was nice to be sure.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but it's almost dawn. We should get back inside." He offered her his arm, but she glanced at the sky and didn't take it. They had a few minutes, yet.  
"Why did you bring me out here?" He shrugged.  
"As I told you, it's my favourite part of the gardens."  
"But why me?" Bertrand sighed and came to sit beside her on the bench.  
"I thought you might like it too. And... well, you know the rest, now. Please forgive my earlier presumptions, I don't know wh-" She cut him off with a brief kiss to show he didn't need to apologise for anything.

He'd proven the rumours about good dancers right, the previous evening, taking her into his arms and kissing her until her head spun. She'd found herself telling him all about the Clan Leaders and her father's determination that all suitors be encouraged; about feeling like a piece of meat with a fancy title attached; about feeling as if all her value was down to who her brother was. He'd made a soft 'tsk' sound at that last one, but it hadn't felt like he was judging her. If Bertrand du Fortunesa, former guardian of the Praedictum Impaver and devoted servant of the Chosen One, really thought she was just as important in her own right, there had to be some truth to that, didn't there? She wasn't sure when she'd drifted off, but she suspected it must have been while they were stargazing. Bertrand didn't seem to mind.

"I believe you, you know." He raised an eyebrow, confused. "It really feels as if you like _me_ , and not my title." That prompted a small frown.  
"You seem surprised. How could I hope to resist you?" She rolled her eyes.  
"Oh, don't do that. You sound like all the oth-"  
" _I_ mean it." She was so surprised at being interrupted that she stopped talking, letting him continue. "You're a formidable woman, Ingrid Dracula, as well as a beautiful one. Only a fool wouldn't see that past the title." He trailed a hand gently over her cheek, apparently lost in thought, but then he glanced up. "We really do need to fly." He handed her her mask and put on his own, and she slid his cloak from her shoulders to wrap it around him, fastening it at the front while he was still protesting that she could keep it on if she was cold.  
"I'm not cold." She'd finished securing the cloak but she didn't let go of the fastening yet, toying absent-mindedly with a loose thread. "People might recognise you without it." He nodded, accepting the wisdom of this, then took her hand and sped off through the maze, back to the palace.

He let go of her hand as they stumbled into the main entrance hall, trying to stifle their giggles, and she rested a hand on his chest for support as she got her balance back. Just for support; there was no ulterior motive. Of course not. Still, it was a wrench to move away once she'd steadied herself.  
"Here I leave you, my lady." He smiled behind the mask - she could tell from the way it lifted slightly and his eyes sparkled - and swept a bow. "Thank you for a most pleasant night."  
"You could come with me," she offered, with no real plan in her head. Admittedly, it would infuriate her father no end if anyone - especially Bertrand - spent the day in her coffin room, but she certainly hadn't thought about that until she said it. "You don't have to go."  
"Alas, I do." He took her hand and pressed an apologetic kiss to it before moving closer and lowering his voice. "I'm on the day shift. It's a good thing we fell asleep last night, really." She frowned.  
"But I thought you worked the night shift last night, at the party?" She'd assumed he was skiving off to spend time with her.  
"I did. I clocked out when I saw you being swamped, and a welcome break it was."  
"Don't you ever _sleep_ , Bertrand?" He smiled wanly at that.  
"Rarely, and with one eye open." She was about to comment, but his attention was suddenly caught by something over her right shoulder. "Forgive me; I must leave you. I think your father wishes to speak to you, and it would be better for both of us if I remained anonymous for now." He bowed again, and was gone, and Ingrid didn't have much time to ponder the strange surge of hope that ran through her at that _for now_.

"Where were you last night, Ingrid?" The Count glared in the general direction of where Bertrand had been standing. "And who was that?"  
"Didn't you recognise the cloak?"  
"I did - but that Clan Leader was slain last night in a confrontation with another, when Vladdy's personal guard were forced to intervene."  
"It seems it has a new wearer, then." Her father looked thoughtful.  
"Yes. In the meantime, _why_ did you neglect to spend time with _any_ of the other eligible suitors at Vlad's ball?" She shrugged.  
"I got a better offer. Now if you'll excuse me, _Daddy_ , I'm really very tired." She left for her coffin room before he had time to object. There was much to think about.

Bertrand, meanwhile, was briefing this morning's guard detail, sending them off to their respective posts. Only once they'd all been assigned and he was on his way to join the pair outside Vlad's door did he allow his mind to wander briefly back to the rose garden at the centre of the maze. He could hardly believe that just hours ago, he'd been telling Ingrid that he wanted her and kissing her on the low stone bench. Ingrid had been in his arms, had fallen asleep on him... He blinked sleepily; he hadn't had much sleep himself, in reality, too busy keeping guard over her and making sure she was comfortable. It was worth it.

The guards at Vlad's door fell silent as he approached, and nodded in greeting. He returned the gesture and settled into the chair set out for the guards in the corridor; there was no sense in all of them standing around the door, after all, and as the senior guard on duty he was entitled to the first rest. It was a right he usually waived, not keen to seem weak in front of the younger guards, but these two had been among the first he had handpicked for Vlad's security detail and knew better than most what Bertrand was capable of.  
"Morning, sir. Alright?" He nodded curtly.  
"Anything to report?"  
"Bit of snoring, but that's it. We've only been here five minutes, sir."  
"Watch your tone, Lesauvage. That's the Chosen One you're talking about."  
"Sorry, sir."  
"You will be. I take it he's alone today?"  
"Yes, sir, but the men on duty last night said he wasn't without offers. A couple of them have been flagged for surveillance, sir. Macfarlane says the report will be with you by noon latest."  
"Right. Very good. Now, since the Chosen One is trying to sleep, I suggest a little quiet is in order." His tone made it clear that his suggestion was an order in disguise, and silence fell over the corridor.

It was broken, at length, only by a loud snore from within the room. Lesauvage had to suppress a grin, and Bellamy, his fellow sentry, elbowed him in the ribs. Bertrand glared at them both, just to be on the safe side.


	2. Chapter 2

Ingrid didn't see Bertrand again until breakfast that evening, and she was surprised by how tired he looked. Of course, this was _Bertrand_ \- he wouldn't have slept on duty. Still, he looked as if he was about to crumble to dust at any moment. She leant across to speak to Vlad while the Count was holding court to a less-than-fascinated Bertrand.  
"I couldn't sleep today; all Dad's mates were leering at me last night, it's creepy. I wouldn't put it past them to sneak up on me..."  
"Would you like me to assign a guard to your room tonight?" She pretended to mull it over.  
"I don't know. I don't want them to know I'm worried, they'd have to be _in_ the room. I'd need someone I knew and trusted, but there's nobody-"  
"Bertrand." The older vampire looked round at the sound of his name. "I need to speak to you after we've eaten, about tonight's duties." He glanced at his sister, seeking her agreement, and she nodded slightly. Vlad was so predictable.

When the meal was over, Vlad and Bertrand disappeared to have their discussion and the Count swept into the grounds, no doubt looking for something to criticise. Ingrid took the opportunity to disappear into a vacant crypt, making a dangerous dash through the palace with a spare coffin in tow. She set it down carefully in her room, as far from her own as she could get it, and sat down just in time to hear a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called, and Bertrand hesitantly shuffled into the room.  
"You requested a guard detail?" She nodded and walked past him to lock the door.  
"I did. You look exhausted. Get some sleep, or you'll be no good to anyone."  
"But I'm on d-"  
"It was a ruse, Bertrand. Look, I even nicked a coffin for you. Don't make me have wasted my time." Still he hesitated, so she took his hand and led him to the spare coffin. The poor man was so tired he just followed stupidly as if his legs had forgotten how to work. As she tried to encourage him to climb in, he made one final attempt to protest.  
"I don't think I _could_ slee-"  
"Yes, you could, you're more than halfway there now. Let me guard _you_ for once, Bertrand. Consider it a fair trade for showing me that garden." She pushed him down to lie flat in the borrowed coffin, perching on the edge to run a hand through his hair. He smiled sleepily at her.  
"Terribly forward..." She smiled at his mumbling.  
"You love it. Now sleep before I knock you ou-" She didn't have to say any more, because his eyes had already closed. 

She stayed there for a while, half afraid that if she looked away he'd leap up and disappear to wear himself out even more. Mostly, she stayed for the view; Bertrand seemed at peace in a way she'd only seen... well, when she was talking to him about nothing the previous night, actually. His handsome face was even more striking now, devoid of anxiety or frustration. She retreated to her own coffin before she could do anything so foolish as _fall in love_ with him, pulled out a book, and settled down to read.

Dinnertime came and went, and Bertrand didn't stir. She hoped the Blood Cellar here was as easy to get into as the one back at Garside, because when Renfield came to tell her it was being served, she simply called out that she was still tired and not hungry, then went back to her book. In fact, it was getting towards midday when Bertrand moved at last.

'Moved' was an understatement; one moment he was sleeping like - well, like the dead - and the next he was on his feet, crouched in a defensive position, spinning to take in the whole room. She tried not to seem unsettled, raising an eyebrow.  
"Well, good morning to you, too."  
" _Ingrid_." The word seemed to rush out of him, along with all the fight. "What - where, what time-?"  
"My, aren't we coherent?" He frowned at her and she sighed. "You needed some sleep, you're in my room, it's..." She fished around at the bottom of her coffin and found her pocketwatch, which she never wore because she never wore anything with pockets, "11.17am. And you're off-duty until one of us leaves this room, so I'd stick around if I were you." 

He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose, and perched on the edge of his borrowed coffin for a minute, pulling out his own pocketwatch to confirm the time.  
"I've got 11.19," he said at last, "but why are you doing this?"  
"Doing what?"  
"Making sure I sleep. Looking after me. C-" He shook his head, but she finished his sentence for him.  
"Caring about you?" She shrugged. "I just do. Care. I would have thought last night proved that." His eyes widened and she realised he was trying to remember what had happened while he'd been asleep. "The night before, if you want to get pedantic. In the rose garden."

He relaxed, and she wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended. She settled on neither, in the end, plumping instead for a healthy portion of concern.  
"How long has it been since you actually slept properly, Bertrand?" He glanced at his watch again.  
"About four minutes." She glared at him and his shoulders slumped. "I don't remember. Before the coronation guests started arriving last week, certainly. Perhaps before the plans began in earnest."  
"That was months ago." She found herself in front of him - when had that happened? - cupping his face in her hand, surprised that he let her. "You shouldn't work so hard."  
"Vlad needs-"  
"A head guard and advisor who's not a walking pile of dust. You can't protect him by killing yourself."  
"Vampires can't-"  
"Don't be so keen to test it." 

She leant in, lips close to his neck, wondering if he'd let her get away with such cheek or if he'd push her away. She was surprised; he stiffened, then tilted his head slightly to expose more of his throat. It was a clear sign of submission, just as her move towards his neck had suggested ownership. He was hers, then, at least when the two of them were alone. She drew away from his neck with a sigh, determined to pretend she hadn't noticed.   
"You've been looking so tired."  
"My appearance hasn't been up to your standards?" He seemed to be trying to joke, but there was a little too much sincerity in his voice for her liking.  
"Bertrand. I mean it." She decided to roll out the big guns. "Besides, if you're never in your coffin, how will I join you there?"

She was expecting the wide-eyed surprise; she wasn't expecting the rush towards the door.  
"Bertrand? I didn't mean-"  
"This is all terribly improper. Thank you for your concern; I'll try to take your advice."  
"But-"  
"Good day, Ing-"  
" _Stop._ " He stopped, hand on the door handle, and waited for her to continue. He didn't turn; he didn't speak. "I didn't mean to offend you. I wasn't implying... _Blood_ , Bertrand, I just want you to look after yourself. Is that so wrong?"  
"You tried to bribe me with your body, Ingrid." He turned back to her, running a finger over her cheek with a strange sort of sadness in his eyes. "We both know you've got enough people doing that for you." She leant her face into his touch.  
"It wasn't a bribe." Then she turned away from him. "Perhaps you _should_ go."

She could _hear_ him standing, wondering if there was anything he could say to fix the hurt he'd caused her. Then a hand brushed lightly against hers.  
"I'm sorry. Good day, Lady Ingrid." She turned to tell him how much she hated him using her title, but he was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"He was seen leaving her room in the middle of the day!"  
"He was _on duty_."  
"What kind of duty would need him to be in there with her?"  
"I _told_ him to. He was on _guard_."  
"Don't be absurd. What would Ingrid need guarding against?" The vampiress herself stepped into the room to find Vlad and her father locked in a confrontation. From what she'd already heard, she could guess what it was about.  
"Your friends, actually."

The Count didn't seem to hear her.  
"I'll tell you what she needs guarding against! Upstart suitors like that _dreadful_ half-fang. I don't know why you keep him, Vlad-"  
"Bertrand was protecting me from _your_ friends, Dad." He finally looked round to see her in the doorway. "The Clan Leaders have been eyeing me up since Vlad's coronation - and why are they still here, anyway?"  
"They have? _Good_! I thought for a moment we'd never get rid of you."  
" _Dad!_ " This came from both the Dracula children, which was probably the only reason he took any notice, Ingrid reflected bitterly.  
"Well, I don't want anyone getting _ideas_ -"  
"Bertrand wouldn't-" Vlad's interruption was swiftly cut off.  
" _Bertrand_? Oh, nobody cares what he thinks, he'd run himself through with a toothpick if you told him to." He didn't place quite the emphasis on _you_ that Ingrid suspected it deserved. "No, I don't want other suitors chased away. Even that ruffian with the stolen cape would be better than _him_ getting in the way."

It was then that Ingrid realised who _wasn't_ present.  
"Where _is_ Bertrand, anyway?"  
"Locked away, as he should be!" She rolled her eyes and turned to Vlad, who held out a key.  
"I'll sort this out, Ingrid, I'm sorry." She shook her head, took the key and disappeared into the depths of the palace.  
"Dad, give me your keys, _now_ ," she heard as the door closed behind her.

It took her a few minutes to reach the dungeons. It was a new palace, after all, and they were hard to find. Of course, stopping to gather her thoughts just around the corner from the throne room probably hadn't helped speed her along.

It wasn't that she was nervous, exactly; it was just Bertrand and, she was surprised to realise, there was probably no man on earth she felt safer with. Which, considering he'd tried to stake her in the back not two years ago, said a lot about the men in her unlife. Actually, on the whole, she thought it probably said more about Bertrand. No, she wasn't nervous as such - but how were you supposed to act around someone you'd lured into your room, thrown out of it, and then effectively had arrested?

She noticed the lack of guards as she drew closer to the dungeons; clearly they knew who they worked for. She wasn't sure if they were simply reluctant to guard Bertrand as a prisoner or if they had some kind of standing order to bunch up around Vlad if Bertrand was unavailable, but every guard in the palace seemed to be loitering in the vicinity of the throne room. It was fortunate, she supposed. There was nobody to see her hesitation before she turned the key and entered.

She'd expected to find him in a cell, irritable but unharmed; her stomach turned over as she realised the only resident of the dungeon was kneeling uncomfortably in a hanging cage of the variety her father seemed to prefer. His hands were cuffed painfully, suspended from the top of the cage, and she was just glad that he was facing away from her and couldn't see her reaction of horror.

She rushed to him, reaching into the cage to touch his shoulder in comfort, but he flinched and she had to force herself to draw her hand back and walk round in front of him so he could see her.  
"Bertrand, I'm so sorry." He seemed to relax a fraction, but only for a second. He struggled to his feet, clearly trying to take some of the strain off his arms even as his neck bent at an awkward angle. He was far too tall for the cage. She put a foot on the edge of the base and reached up to uncuff his hands, never mind that the thing was swinging wildly. As he dropped gratefully to the floor of the cage, she stepped back and held a hand up to steady it.

"Thank you, Lady Ingrid." She frowned.  
"Please don't call me that." He didn't even look at her, eyes fixed on the floor just outside the bars.  
"My apologies, Lady Dracu-"  
" _Bertrand_. I'm trying to apologise. I didn't think of this happening, and I shouldn't have told you to leave like that. You were only telling the truth, after all." She folded her arms and waited for the laughter. She assumed that was what would happen; she didn't usually apologise to people. The last time she _had_ , she'd been six years old and she'd dropped her mother's hairbrush in the makeup she'd been trying on.  
 _"Only the weak are sorry, darling. Oh, how pathetic you look. Go and annoy your father, there's a girl."_

Bertrand, though, wasn't laughing.  
"It wasn't my place-"  
"I'm glad somebody else saw it, to be honest," she blurted out before he could continue, "I thought I was going mad, imagining things." He reached out through the bars to touch her face.  
"Oh, _Ingrid_." She closed her eyes and leant into the touch, relishing the way he said her name, unadorned and somehow reverent. "I'm so sorry it's you they're treating like this."  
"So it'd be alright if it was any other woman?" He seemed taken aback by the bite in her voice.  
"Not at all. But you... you deserve _so_ much better." He sighed heavily. "So, will it be by dawn, or is your father going to insist on another Carpathian Feast?" Ingrid raised an eyebrow, confused. "Well, they're going with treason, I suppose?" Her eyes widened; had he really thought-?  
"What? No! No, Vlad sent me down here to let you out, I just... haven't yet." She moved towards the lock, fumbling with the key, but his hand shot out to stop her and she dropped it altogether.

"You wanted to make sure we finished our conversation this time." She glanced up, irritated, and his eyes caught hers. There was something buried deep within them, something she didn't quite understand. It took the angry words straight off her tongue; all of a sudden they were just gone.  
"...Yes." She frowned, trying to remember what had gone so wrong in her coffin room anyway. "I... you don't understand, I wasn't trying to bribe you to do _anything_. I shouldn't _have_ to bribe you just to sleep. I just wanted to... I... look, I'm out of practice with the whole flirting thing, that's all." He let go of her hand abruptly and she ducked under the cage to retrieve the key, glad of the excuse not to look at him.  
"You were just..." He stopped, and she could almost _hear_ his frown in the silence. "That was flirting?" She stood, key in hand, to glare at him.  
"Yes. I was just trying to suggest that one day I might not be entirely opposed to - you know what, forget it." His eyes were closed, now.  
"I'm trying to." She unlocked the door of the cage and he scrambled out before she could change her mind. "I didn't realise - when I was young, flirting wasn't like that. The most anyone ever suggested was that it might be nice to hold hands, or ask her father _for_ her hand." He frowned. "Actually, most of the time it was the fathers doing the bulk of the flirting."

"Bertrand." She reached out and wrapped slender fingers around his wrist, noticing the livid red marks where he'd been cuffed. He didn't wince as she touched them, but she did. "Are we OK?" He glanced over his shoulder towards the door, pulling his arm from her grip.  
"Don't, Ingrid, if they see..."  
"They'll assume I'm using you for my own amusement."  
"We'll both be in trouble, and that cage isn't big enough for the two of us."  
"We could get cosy," she argued playfully, but he shook his head.  
"Ingrid, they'd stake me. And I'm more good to you undead." She stepped backwards, unsettled by his defeated tone.  
"So you're saying... what are you saying, Bertrand?"

He reached down to take her hand, bringing it slowly to his lips and pressing a long, lingering kiss to her knuckles.  
"I'm sorry, my lady. I need to keep you safe, above everything." She glanced over his shoulder at the door; there was nobody there. There was no point arguing with him - she could hardly ask him to risk his unlife just to make her happy, after all, and the events of the last few hours suggested that he wasn't being unrealistic in his expectations of what would happen if they were caught.  
"Then at least let me say goodbye properly." He looked a little alarmed, but nodded all the same, so she flung her arms around him and kissed him. There was no hurry in the kiss, no urgent clacking of teeth, no bumping of noses, just lips moving smoothly against each other, then the briefest touch of tongues before the cycle began again. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her as firm and as safe as they had in the rose garden at the centre of the maze, pulling her closer... and then he stepped back, eyes still closed. It took a moment for him to open them, and he moved closer again, resting his forehead against hers, noses barely touching, voice little more than a whisper.

"For what it's worth... you're a good dancer too." He stepped back, made a strange little bow that really wasn't _anything_ \- and Bertrand very rarely misjudged the depth of a bow - and left. Ingrid perched in the doorway of the cage, swinging absentmindedly as if she was in a kids' playground rather than a vampire's dungeon, and let herself replay the kiss in her mind. Strange how after just a couple of days of the merest hint of flirtation, she was going to miss his touch so deeply.

She shook her head and stood. No, she was Ingrid Dracula. She didn't need anyone. Least of all a 400-year-old vampire too noble to risk everything for a beautiful woman.

She didn't need him. She would be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

The Clan Leaders eventually drifted away; Ingrid had been accompanied by at least one guard who'd been sent to 'consult her on the proper protection of vampiresses' whenever any of them tried to approach her and their patience was not unlimited. In fact, much as Ingrid loved to lecture people on vampiresses and their ability to protect themselves if only they were afforded the proper rights, even she was beginning to find the constant presence of a guard irritating.

When she confronted Bellamy - it _always_ seemed to be Bellamy, or the French guard whose name she couldn't remember - about it, he just shrugged apologetically.  
"Those are me orders, m'lady. You'd have to take it up with me boss." She glared at him but he refused to be budged.  
"Fine. We'll go and see Vlad, shall we?"  
"He's not me boss." She raised an eyebrow; if he was a traitor, he was being very blasé about it. "I mean... he's _the_ boss. When I say 'me boss' I mean me immediate boss, you know." She thought about that for a minute and her voice turned to ice as she realised who was responsible for the constant surveillance of the last few weeks.  
" _Bertrand._ "

Bellamy couldn't even keep up with her as she shot to the guardroom and hammered on the door.  
"BERTRAND!" He appeared behind her, with a nod at Bellamy, who'd just come round the corner.  
"Exchange duties? West wing, outside the Grand High Vampire's-" The Irish guard was already gone; he turned to Ingrid with a sigh. "Lady Ingrid, how can I help you?" She was about to reprimand him for using the title, but then she realised that the door to the guardroom had opened and about twelve off-duty vampires were watching curiously. She smiled tightly.  
"I need to discuss my personal guard rotation with you. In _private_ , please."

The moment she was inside his office and the door was closed, she let him have it.  
" _Why_ exactly do I have a Franco-Irish _shadow detachment_ on my tail?" He looked faintly taken aback.  
"I thought you had concerns about the Clan Leaders-"  
"They're gone, Bertrand. Ramanga left two nights ago; why are they still everywhere? And why those two?"  
"Bellamy and Lesauvage? Have you had problems with them?"  
"Only that they _won't go away_. Why, Bertrand?" He seemed determined to stare at a point just over her left shoulder rather than meet her eye.

"They're the best I've got." They were alone; it seemed safe to reach out and turn his face towards hers. As their eyes met, his stiff soldier's posture relaxed slightly and his expression softened. "I would trust only three people to protect you. And you can't have me." Her hand was still on his cheek, and she found herself reluctant to pull away.  
"Why can't I?" He ducked his head awkwardly, closing his eyes.  
"I didn't know if I could remain detached." She frowned, running her fingers down his face to lift his chin.  
"Why can't I have you, Bertrand?" She knew she was being unfair, but it seemed so crazy to deny themselves something they clearly both wanted.  
"You know why." His voice was soft, and sad, and so close that she couldn't help but lean in and close the gap between their lips.

His response was slow, but hungry; he wrapped his arms around her, slowly moving them across the room, turning them to brace his back against the door. He broke the kiss with the softest of whispers.  
"We can't..." Even if a vampire had had their ear pressed against the other side of the door, they couldn't have heard that.  
"We can. Bertrand, we can have anything we want." She matched his volume exactly, and he couldn't help but smile and pull her back in.

This time it was she who eventually drew back.  
"Run away with me." His eyes widened.  
"What?"  
"If we can't be together here, we'll just leave. You've been all over the world, you must know somewhere we could-"  
"Ingrid, no. I can't." His voice was soft, but there was the faintest hint of a crack in it. Something was keeping him here, something he obviously couldn't resist... Of course. She couldn't quite keep the bitter edge out of her voice as she spoke.  
"Vlad."

It should have been obvious, really, she supposed. Bertrand nodded slowly and all she could think was how typical it was. She knew he didn't mean to, but her little brother always seemed to get everything she wanted. Bertrand saw her expression change and grabbed at her hand.  
"I'm not... it's not choosing him over you, but Ingrid, I've spent four centuries preparing to serve the Chosen One. I can't just abandon that duty now." She was about to snap at him, but she could see his point. Really, it was flattering that he even sounded torn about it.  
"Fine, I shouldn't have-" His lips were on hers again, and she wasn't sure which of them had moved.  
"If there is a way, I'll find it," he promised her at that same barely-audible volume, "I want to be the one you call yours."  
"But for now...?"  
"For now we can't do that." She kissed him again, trying to change his mind, and he let her do it. When he pulled back, though, his voice was firm. "And if, in the meantime, you find someone else... If you find a chance to be happy without me, take it."

She raised an eyebrow.  
"Am I really so easy to give up?"  
"This might never be easy, Ingrid." Then he pushed her away slightly and opened the door, a clear and formal dismissal. "Thank you for raising your concerns. I'll reduce the guard."  
"Thank you," she said as she passed, and she meant for so much more than the guards.


	5. Chapter 5

Ingrid was fuming.

She'd thought a moonlit wander through the maze, back to that ridiculously gorgeous rose garden, would be just the thing to clear her head after days of not thinking about avoiding the very thought of considering dreaming about Bertrand. She'd thought it would be easy; she'd set out right after breakfast and the night was young. It turned out, however, that finding the centre was nowhere near as easy as Bertrand had made it look.

She was just snarling at yet another dead end and weighing up the relative merits of just flying to the middle as opposed to turning around and continuing to walk, when a familiar voice sounded nearby.  
"Not as easy as you'd think, is it?" She was about to give him a piece of her mind when he appeared around a corner. "You're almost there. See you in the garden." She didn't know _what_ gave him the idea that she wanted to share the space with him, but he moved too fast for her to chase and by the time she'd even thought of doing that, he was long gone.

As it happened, he was right; it only took a few more wrong turns for her to find herself once again in the rose garden. This time, the Captain of the Guard was waiting for her. She ignored him, striding past the hand he was holding out in greeting and settling with a slight huff on the stone bench where they'd spent so many enjoyable hours on the night of Vlad's coronation.  
"If you're not going to kiss me you might as well leave." She'd expected him to argue, or else disappear into the grounds, but instead he came to sit close beside her, taking her face between his hands.  
"It's a risk." He pressed his lips gently against hers and she took the opportunity to worry at his bottom lip with her teeth.  
"It's worth it."

Before she knew it, she was lying almost on her back along the length of the bench, supported in Bertrand's strong arms as he kissed her. She clung to him, pulling him down until she really was lying flat and he had to brace an arm against the bench to keep himself from lying on top of her. She almost expected him to leave - this was an appalling breach of propriety - but he just shifted carefully to make sure he wasn't touching her with any part of his body but the hand now running through her hair and kept going. She clutched at his back, trying to understand the strange burning sensation she was experiencing. She hadn't felt it since... well, since _Will_ , and now it was like a somehow pleasant fire had been lit inside her. She pulled him closer, bringing his body down to lie flush against hers, and for a moment a rare peace washed over her... and then he _did_ move away, sitting up to run a hand through his own hair, obviously flustered.

"I'm sorry," she said, and then, "no, wait, I'm not. I'm not sorry for wanting you, Bertrand."  
"You don't have to apologise, we just can't-" She cut him off with a glare, sitting up beside him.  
"You keep saying we can't, and then we _do_. What do you want from me, Bertrand?"  
"More than I should." Ingrid got close, lips almost touching his ear.  
"I thought you'd be the type to take what you want." He tensed and she realised he'd taken it as an accusation. "When it's offered, of course." Her brother's guard closed his eyes and took a deep, unnecessary breath before apparently deciding resistance was futile.  
"And what are you offering?"

She sat back with a bump.  
"I don't know." She let her head rest on his shoulder and he slipped an arm around her as they sat in silence. "Just... _this_ , I suppose." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she revelled in the simple intimacy.  
"All this," he murmured softly, "from a dance." It _was_ hard to believe, but there it was.  
"I was always a little intrigued," she admitted. "Besides, you were one of the few people I could actually have an intelligent conversation with."  
"And you were one of the few who saw through my scheming."  
"Mm, right before you dropped me in it." He ducked his head, ashamed of himself, and she snuggled closer to show him she wasn't cross. "I think I really started falling for you then, you know."  
"I... I don't flirt to get my way, Ingrid. In the Blood Cellar, that was... an accident." She sat up to smirk at him.  
"I've never heard you so stuttery."  
"I-" He cut himself off with a frown, then kissed her before she could press him to finish. She accepted the compromise; he really did make her feel the most wonderful things.

"It's almost dawn, if we want to get inside in time..."  
"Fly with me?" He just looked at her, and she wondered if that had meant something different back in his day. But then he nodded, standing and offering a hand to help her up.  
"We'll have to go our separate ways before we actually get there."  
"That's fine." She hesitated, hand still in his. "Do you dance as well in the air, Bertrand?" This time he definitely raised an eyebrow. When two vampire bats danced, it was a courtship ritual, a promise of sorts.  
"You might find out, one night." He glanced up at the lightening sky. "But I fear it's a straight dash home for us. Come on." And with that, he transformed into bat form and flapped idly for a moment, waiting; she followed suit and they shot towards the palace building.

Bertrand, she noticed, did a swift loop around her, passing underneath and then over the top of her before veering off to aim for the guardroom window. Ingrid smiled to herself as she landed and made her way into the entrance hall just as the first of the sun's lethal rays broke over the horizon.

It wasn't quite a dance, or a promise. But it was a start.


	6. Chapter 6

A week later, Ingrid left her coffin room and was furious to find Lesauvage standing a respectful distance from her door, clearly waiting to begin the whole shadow routine again.  
"I thought I'd made myself clear-"  
"Captain du Fortunesa sends his apologies, his compliments, and the message that Clan Leader Ramanga is occupying a guest crypt in the South Wing." She stopped in her tracks; she'd been about to storm off and give Bertrand a piece of her mind, but now it seemed that, once again, he had only her best interests at heart. She took a moment to compose her expression and turned back towards her bodyguard of the day.  
"Well, I would hate to scorn his apologies. I suppose I'll just have to get used to having you around. I assume you'll be trading off with Bellamy again?" He nodded dumbly; probably surprised she knew any of their names. Well, it didn't do to be surrounded by strangers in one's own home.  
"Is that alright, madame?" She shrugged.  
"I doubt there's any point trying to change Bertrand's mind."

She hadn't really seen their illustrious Captain of the Guard since their meeting in the maze; Vlad had been away on diplomatic errands for some days and of course Bertrand and a small cohort of guards had gone with him, returning only the night before. She'd noticed that Bellamy and Macfarlane had still been around, although never on the same shift in the same place, and couldn't help but wonder if he'd left one of his best deliberately to keep an eye on _her_.

"Tell me, Lesauvage, why are Bellamy and Macfarlane never on guard together?" The Frenchman gave her a sheepish grin.  
"That's not a tale for a Lady's ears, madame. But they go way back, those two, and Macfarlane in particular has a tendency to get... silly. After the last incident... it was considered better, when they took up their positions in the Grand High Vampire's personal guard, to split their watches."  
"Yet they weren't fired."  
"They're good guards, madame. And the Captain trusts them." She nodded; interesting, that Bertrand would profess to trust such men. She hadn't thought he trusted _anyone_.

Her routine continued as usual for three nights - Ramanga did his best to get her alone, but with her ever-present guard detail about there was no opportunity for him to try to court her as the vampire world would expect. On the fourth night of the Clan Leader's stay, Ingrid woke in a bad mood and stormed out of her coffin room without so much as a glance at the makeshift guard post immediately outside it. She was at the end of the corridor before she realised Bertrand himself was trailing in her wake.

"Have I somehow become Grand High Vampire without noticing?" She stopped and turned towards him as he frowned.  
"Unfortunately, your brother managed to remember a particular piece of protocol I'd rather hoped he'd forget."  
"Oh?"  
"Nobody's allowed to guard him in _all_ his meetings, so nobody can betray all his secrets. I was quite firm about the institution of that rule and now it seems he's decided to uphold it. I believe he means to prove that he does listen occasionally."  
"So you're stuck with me."  
"I have that honour, m'lady." She smiled at him.  
"Well, I rather think I'd like to take a walk. Perhaps to the maze. Would that be an expedition you are capable of accompanying me on?"  
"I think I can manage it." But as they rounded a corner, they ran into Ramanga and the Count.

"Ah, Lady Ingrid!" Ramanga began with a somewhat predatory smile. "We were just coming to find you." She raised an eyebrow.  
"In my coffin room?" That was highly improper - blood, she sounded like Bertrand, but some rules were there for a reason - she took a step backwards towards her escort without thinking about it as Ramanga stepped forward.  
"Yes. I've spoken to your father and now I need to talk to you, immediately." He glanced past her at Bertrand, who was staring into the middle distance with the perfectly vacant expression and alert posture expected of a guard who wasn't really there as far as conversation was concerned. "It's been so hard to catch you, recently."  
"Well, here I am."  
"I wish to marry you. Your father has agreed." Her jaw dropped and she shifted backwards slightly again. She was close enough to Bertrand now that she could feel the tension radiating from him.  
"I don't know what to s-"  
"You don't have to say anything, silly girl." That was her father, of course. "I've already accepted on your behalf. It's a fine match."

She stared at them both for a moment, unable to comprehend what was happening.  
"Wha-?"  
"I would have wooed you properly, but I didn't have the opportunity." Ramanga's eyes flicked over to Bertrand, who of course would take all the blame for her thorough guard detail. "So, there it is. Now, we should discuss details."  
"I'm-" She was about to protest that she was busy, had plans, needed to get away - but then she realised he wasn't talking to her at all. Indeed, he was already walking away, deep in discussion with her father.

She stood for a few moments in shock before turning to Bertrand, who now wore a blank expression a china doll would be proud of.  
"Take me to the centre of the maze, please." He nodded and held out a hand for her to take. She entwined their fingers and before she knew it she was surrounded by roses. She took a deep breath, for the scent, and waited to feel calmer in the familiar surroundings she'd grown so fond of. This was a place for her and Bertrand; nothing could touch her here. So why did she still feel as if she'd just been hit by a bus?

He had released her hand and taken three long paces across the garden, stopping with his back to her, standing as straight as the soldier he'd once been.  
"Bertrand," she managed, barely loud enough for him to hear, "what just happened?" He turned, face still carefully blank.  
"I believe you are engaged to be married, m'lady." She cringed at the term. "I suppose congratulations are in order."  
"No. No, they're not. Oh, _Bertrand_ -" She reached out for him and he came to her, taking her hand in his.  
"I shouldn't be touching you, Ingrid, the consequences-"  
"Please, I- _please_." He knew she wouldn't beg for no reason, and he didn't seem able to deny her what she wanted; he wrapped his arms around her and let her bury her face against his chest. "What do I do?"

He was silent for a moment; she could feel him awkwardly stroking her hair as he thought about it.  
"Perhaps you should talk to Vlad?"  
"He's too worried about keeping the Council onside to go against a Clan Leader. Besides, if I ask him to stop this, he'll just assume I set it up so he _had_ to burn his bridges... I don't want to be the reason the peace plan breaks down. Vlad's worked too hard on it. _I've_ worked too hard on the stupid thing."  
"I'm sure he'd-"  
"Bertrand, I'm doomed. If Vlad gets me out of marrying Ramanga, I'll be auctioned off to the next highest bidder. There's no point fighting it."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, trying to reassure her.  
"We'll find a way out of it." She met his eyes.  
"We?"  
"I don't want him to treat you like this. And I don't want to let you go." He pulled her closer against him and kissed her. She clung to him like a lifeline and kissed back, surprised when he shifted his arms slightly and lifted her off the ground. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, she felt a slight stirring of his body against hers, but she didn't comment and he seemed to be hoping she wouldn't notice as he carried her over to sit her on their bench. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands, and gazed straight into her eyes. "If I could fix this for you, if I thought pretending you were already spoken for would help... you know I'd do anything for you." Ingrid stared at him, stunned.  
"Anything? Really?" He hesitated, then nodded.  
"I really think so." She leant forward and pressed her lips to his, then sat back to try to think of a plan.

"Maybe I could make him not _want_ me," she began after several silent minutes during which Bertrand had come to join her on the bench. He looked up, frowning, as she continued. "Some kind of scandal, something he wouldn't want to be associated with."  
"But that would affect _your_ reputation-" She'd already leapt to her feet, though, cutting him off.  
"There's no time to think of anything else, I have to make sure it's all called off before it can be made public. He'll never forgive the humiliation otherwise." She made for the exit of the garden, but turned back to throw herself into Bertrand's arms. "If Dad kills me, just... you should know I care about you." He held her tight, pressing soft kisses into her hair.  
"You forget who's guarding you today. He can _try_." She nodded slowly, then placed her hands in his.  
"If you're sure you don't mind coming with me... Let's go and find him."


	7. Chapter 7

"You're what?" Vlad looked as if he'd been hit in the face with a brick. Which, she suspected, would have both surprised and worried him less than what had actually happened.  
"Glad. And very grateful, Ramanga. I had worried that I would be unable to conceal my condition for much longer, but if I'm married it's just a head start." Ingrid waited for that to sink in.  
"Head start?" The Count frowned, but Ramanga was quicker on the uptake.  
" _What condition_?" She sensed Bertrand's hand twitching behind her, as if he wanted to reach out and grab her arm, dissuade her from this course of action, but didn't quite dare.  
"Well, obviously an observant vampire like you can tell I'm pregnant."  
" _WHAT?"_ She'd been expecting their simultaneous outbursts, and the expression of horror on Vlad's face as he joined in. What she hadn't expected was how fast things would descend into madness.

Ramanga rounded on the Count.  
"Did you know about this? You'd give this... this _rotten orange_ to your friend?" Shakespeare; if she'd thought he had any idea that he was quoting it she might even be impressed.  
"Of course I didn't know! Why would anyone even go _near_ -?"  
"Without hope of a dowry? I don't know, why _would_ you?" He turned to address this last to Bertrand. "I demand justice upon them both."

The Captain of the Guard stood motionless, and Ingrid scrambled to catch up with the conversation.  
"What-? You can't honestly think _Bertrand_ -"  
"Why else would he be here for this?"  
"He's my guard today-"  
"And you'll have need of him." She turned to her father, desperate, but he simply nodded.  
"You have an hour to run. If I see either of you after that... _you'll wish I hadn't_." Then he swept out, and Ramanga spat contemptuously on the floor at her feet before following him, still ranting.

"Vlad-" She needed his help, but she was still, even now, too proud to beg.  
"I'll try, but it's going to take longer than an hour to get through to him. Bertrand, are-?"  
"Bellamy or Lesauvage," the former tutor cut in, "I'm afraid you'll have to choose fast but those are my recommendations."  
"For... the real father?" Vlad seemed completely incapable of believing Bertrand had got her pregnant - though not that she _was_ pregnant.  
"For my replacement as Captain. I'll go and brief them immediately, before time runs out."  
"Oh - Lesauvage, I suppose, 'cos he's allowed to work with everyone- Bertrand, are you saying you actually-?"  
"I'm not saying _anything_ , your grandness, but I have to leave." He left with a nod to each of them, and Ingrid ran into the corridor after him.

"Bertrand, I'm sorry, I didn't think he'd-" There was no way she could have predicted that Ramanga would accuse _Bertrand_ of being her lover. This had gone so very wrong.  
"Go and pack, Lady Ingrid, there'll be time to chat on the road."  
"You're coming with me?"  
"I'd rather you didn't go alone, and I must leave anyway. If it's agreeable to you..." She nodded.  
"It is. Thank you. Will _you_ have time to pack?" He seemed frustrated as he answered.  
"I don't know. I need to go and brief Lesauvage _now_ -"  
"Then let me pack for you." He stopped, regarding her for a moment before nodding and striding on towards the guardroom.  
"My coat hangs on my office door, there's a shroud under the desk, and swords in a bag in the cupboard nearest the guard rota. I'll need nothing else except what I have time to fetch from my room myself. Thank you." She let him go.

Forty-five minutes later, Bertrand hurried into the entrance hall. Dawn was only two hours away, and they had to find somewhere to hide out before then. She could see why he'd asked her to fetch his coat; he'd changed into civilian clothes, a red shirt and braces that suited him surprisingly well, but the lack of certain badges of rank was all too obvious. He threw on the heavy red coat, slung the swords over his shoulder and picked up her bag as well as his own.  
"You don't have to-"  
"Best to keep up appearances, don't you think? Come on. I know a place we can go; just follow me." Then they were off, fleeing the new palace Vlad had so recently been presented with. It was amazing how fast Ingrid had let it become _home_.

They landed in a clearing in the woods, where a small, dilapidated little house stood. Bertrand grimaced before stepping across the threshold and inviting her in - just in time, as sunlight began to filter through the trees. She closed the door and looked around curiously.  
"You didn't need an invitation."  
"Well," he was glancing around warily, speaking low, "nor did you, technically. You just expected to, and it was quicker- but Mori doesn't need the place any more. Stay here while I check there's nobody else squatting." He dropped the bags carefully and prowled off to check upstairs.

"There's a hole in the roof the size of a manhole cover, but apart from that it's all clear. One of the guest coffin rooms is still useable, and I can sleep down here."  
"You don't have to... why are you being so nice?" He frowned as if he didn't understand the question. "I just made you a wanted man because I didn't want to get married. You must be furious." He shook his head.  
"You didn't mean to. Besides, I thought I was always _wanted_ when you were around." She blinked at him, surprised by this new, bold side to Bertrand. He seemed to read her mind. "Well, I'm not the Captain of the Guard at the moment, and I strongly suspect your father's lobbying to get your title revoked... we might as well make the most of the freedom." Her eyes widened a fraction. "I meant we can relax a bit." She leant back against the door, not quite sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

Bertrand picked up all the bags again and disappeared through a doorway.  
"This room's got the best seats, if you want something more comfortable than the door." She rolled her eyes; she'd forgotten how _sarcastic_ Bertrand could be when he truly relaxed. She supposed he had a point about getting comfortable, though. She followed him into a cosy little living room and took a seat.

Bertrand had swiftly found a couple of mugs in the kitchen and made them each a cup of tea. He didn't seem to be having any trouble getting around the place. And earlier, he'd mentioned a guest bedroom as if he knew where the _master_ bedroom was...  
"What is this place, anyway?" He sighed.  
"I used to almost live here, in short bursts. A friend of mine; this was his home, until Sethius..." Ingrid nodded sympathetically; they'd both lost their allies that fateful night. "Anyway, when I was still looking for your brother, I used to stop off here to get my ration of intelligent conversation for a while." They lapsed into silence for a moment before Bertrand spoke again.

"You were lying to Ramanga, of course."  
"Naturally." She took a sip of her tea. "I wasn't expecting it to backfire quite so spectacularly."  
"I haven't been on the run for _years_ , I was beginning to miss it anyway." He smiled ruefully at her from the sofa and she moved to sit next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.  
"You'll look after me, won't you?" He dropped a soft kiss into her hair.  
"It won't be long. Vlad will sort things out."  
"How will we know?"  
"There's an intermediary system set up. It was supposed to be used in the event that _Vlad_ needed to disappear and contact everyone else, but it'll work just as well in reverse." She just stared at him blankly. "I'll go out and check for messages after dark."

"And 'til then?"  
"The coffin room's yours; I'll show you which one's safe and bring your stuff up, and I'll sleep in here." She thought about arguing, but there was no way she'd win that one and she was too tired today.  
"Thanks."

She settled into the coffin in the safe guest room - Bertrand had assured her that it was the room he used to sleep in, and not some dusted stranger's personal room - and closed her eyes with the distinct feeling that she'd like to go back to the previous evening and try the night again. Still, it could have been worse, she was sure. She heard Bertrand shuffling around downstairs and realised she was smiling as she finally drifted off to sleep.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The knock at the door startled her awake, but she wasn't fully aware of her surroundings - just Bertrand's voice.  
"Ingrid, I'm just going to check for post. I should be back in an hour or so; I'll make sure I'm not followed."  
"Be safe," she murmured, without really understanding why, and she heard him chuckle quietly through the haze as she drifted back into sleep.  
"I will, I promise."

Later, she got up and pottered downstairs to find that Bertrand had tucked his shroud - looking awfully thin and worn in places, she noticed - under the table in the dining room and was sitting there frowning at a piece of paper.  
"Is that Vlad's message?" He nodded absent-mindedly, then turned in his seat to get a better look at her.  
"Did you sleep well?" It was her turn to nod. "You might want to grab a chair." She did so with a grimace.  
"Bad news, then?" He handed it over and she scanned it quickly.

_Dear Bertrand and Ingrid,_

_I hope you two are together at the moment, I don't want either of you disappearing. If Ramanga's right about what happened, I guess congratulations? I don't know, I wasn't really expecting this._

_I'm working on getting you home, but if I just override Dad and Ramanga you'll have to watch your backs all the time. I'm going for a hearts-and-minds approach, but it might take a while. Find somewhere comfortable if you can._

_Ingrid, I take it you know_ Much Ado About Nothing _... We may have to take drastic measures to restore your name._

_Bertrand, you'd better look after her,_ especially _if this is in any way your fault._

_I'll keep checking for messages as often as I can._

_Vladimir Dracula IV, Chosen One & Grand High Vampire._

She raised an eyebrow.  
"He wants me to fake my own death?" Bertrand snorted mirthlessly.  
"I hope you don't mind; I took the liberty of beginning to draft a response. I wasn't sure what you wanted to do about his personal questions..." She took the second letter he offered her and burst out laughing despite herself.

_Your Grandness,_

_I assume you've heard of_ Romeo and Juliet _?_

_As for your sister, I will guard her with my unlife. Thank you for your efforts to restore our names._

_Bertrand du Fortunesa_

He seemed startled by her outburst, and when she looked up from trying to control her laughter, still beaming, to find him frowning at her in obvious concern, there was no great amount of thought involved in her decision to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. He froze for a second, then wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her right back.  
"The reply's OK, then?" He was smiling as he asked the question, and she simply set it on the table behind her.  
"I have nothing to add. Unless you'd like me to try to clear your name, but I doubt they'll believe me." He just shook his head and kissed her again, sighing as he reluctantly pulled back.  
"Let me go and deliver this, and then I'll be right back and maybe we can work out some kind of plan." She moved away from him, back to her own seat, and tried not to seem too disappointed.  
"Of course. Well, I'll be here..." He folded the letter, such as it was, tucked it into an envelope, and strode out with it.

Ingrid sat at that table for what felt like a very long time, just thinking. It was almost insulting, the way everyone kept sniping at Bertrand, as if there was no question that _she_ would do something so stupid - and in her position, she knew she would have had to be incredibly shortsighted, at the very least, to actually let herself fall pregnant as she'd claimed. Her father was expecting her to marry well, and her standing in the vampire world was still, unfortunately, chained to her marriage prospects. A fling wouldn't have bothered anyone. A child? Well, she might as well have fetched herself a stake.

Still, it was a little bewildering how fast everyone's suspicions fell upon the unfortunate Captain of the Guard. Her father had caught him sneaking out of her room, once, admittedly, and he _had_ come with her to tell them - if only she'd run it by him first, perhaps he would have seen the terrible plan for what it was, or at least had the sense not to come with her. Much as she hated to admit it, she was a little glad that that hadn't happened. If it had, she might be here alone.

"Are you just going to stand there?" He hung his head as he made his way around the table to sit with her again.  
"Forgive me, I was just..."  
"Enjoying the view?" She teased, when no more information seemed forthcoming.  
"Thinking," he corrected mildly, and then, hesitantly, "although you do make a beautiful picture- that is, I mean, you're..." He trailed off, and she bit her lip.  
"I suppose we're stuck with each other for a while. So what do we have here?" He frowned and she clarified nervously. "I mean, obviously there's been kissing before, but things are different now I've got you exiled... Am I just a pretty picture or is there more to it than that?"

"Oh, Ingrid." He sounded sad, almost disappointed in her, and she wondered if it was really so wrong to hope that he wanted her for more than her looks. "Your family really did a number on you. Can't you see how special you are?" Her jaw dropped, and it took her a few seconds to pull back her mask of haughty arrogance.  
"I know I'm special." She sighed. "I just didn't think anybody else had noticed." He reached across to cover her hand, on the table, with his own, stroking gently.  
"Ingrid, if I was worthy of you, I'd tell you every day. _Every_ day." His face darkened. "And nobody who doesn't do that should even be allowed to stand in your presence."  
"You _are_ worthy- it's me who- blood, Bertrand, you've done _ridiculous_ things to take care of me, well beyond your duty to Vlad. If anything, _I'm_ not worthy-"  
"Ingrid, this is only temporary." He made it sound like a terrible thing. "You'll get your title back in time, and then we can't be together. You know that."

She was silent for a moment.  
"Perhaps. But everyone already thinks we _are_ together, or at least that we've slept together. We're being punished for that right now." He frowned.  
"What's your point?" She smiled nervously at him.  
"Well... we may as well be hanged for a sheep..." She could almost _see_ the moment his cold vampire blood rushed south. "I mean, we could barely even kiss, back at the palace, but here... we're free."  
"You _want_ to kiss me?" She leant across to where he was sitting and pulled him in to prove it. When she finally moved back, he followed with a hungry little noise, and she couldn't hide her smirk.  
"You should know by now, you're the one I want. You show me night-roses and keep your hands in the right places and you're..." She didn't know what to say that wouldn't make him feel even more uncomfortable than he was already starting to look. "...a _fantastic_ dancer," she finished lamely, "and I've fallen for you."

He glanced towards the heavy curtains covering the window; dawn was approaching already.  
"You must be tired, you're not making any sense. You should sleep. Me too, actually, I'll just grab my shro-"  
"It's your turn to take the coffin," she interrupted, and then, when he made to protest, "or... we could share it."

For a moment, she thought she'd gone too far and offended him, but then he rolled his shoulder awkwardly, trying to ease some of the ache in it from the previous day, and she realised she might even win this battle.  
"No funny business," he conceded eventually, "we're just... we'll just share, nothing suspect about it."  
"Of course not." She held out her hand and he took it, pulling them both to their feet. "Come to bed, Bertrand," she teased, and was surprised when he swept her into his strong arms and just held her for a moment. She hadn't realised how much she really wanted to be comforted, now that she found herself in this bizarre situation, but being wrapped in Bertrand's embrace just felt _right_ , somehow. He made her feel safe, and warm, and a little tingly, as if bats were fluttering in her stomach. His muscles tensed around her, and she wondered if he was feeling just as disconcertingly _fine_ as she was.

And then he pulled away, gesturing for her to walk up the stairs ahead of him like a true gentleman.  
"Oh, I see, get me to walk in front, oldest trick in the book... Are you checking me out, Bertrand?" She teased, and he stunned her again with his gruff reply.  
"Well, I am _now_ , aren't I? Now you've said that." She turned on him in the doorway of the guest coffin room and kissed him again, wondering if he'd let her. He didn't stop her kissing him; he even kissed back, but when she pulled away she wasn't really surprised by his frown. "Ingrid, please, we can't forget who we are."  
"Right now, we're nobody." She turned away from him and stepped into the coffin, fully clothed, waiting for him to join her. He settled himself awkwardly at the opposite edge, glad that Mori had always provided a double coffin for his visitors. "Sleep well, Bertrand."

He couldn't quite resist rolling over to kiss her, chaste and sweet, before settling back with the tiniest hint of a smile.  
"Sweet dreams."

 


	9. Chapter 9

The next evening, when Ingrid awoke, it was with the distinct feeling that she'd overslept. Moreover, the coffin seemed softer than it had before, a pillow tucked under her head. A pillow which, now she thought about it, seemed to have _muscles_. She sat bolt upright and Bertrand smiled awkwardly up at her.  
"Sorry. I didn't want to wake you." He climbed out of the coffin and paused in the doorway. "I'm just going to get changed and run out for messages. I won't be long." She understood the implied _Don't come downstairs while I'm changing_ , and nodded, settling back down in the coffin as he left, leaving the door ajar. She was glad of that; she hated the feeling of being shut in somewhere by anyone. She felt enough like a prisoner in her unlife without adding to it. She closed her eyes, thinking.

Leaving aside the new discovery of Bertrand's incredibly well-defined chest, the position in which she'd woken offered plenty to think about. He'd been awake when she woke up, she was sure of it, and probably had been since the sun went down. He must have been lying there for some time, just waiting for her to wake up so he could move. It was so thoughtful of him, and yet his comment had been apologetic and so typically _Bertrand_.

She stood with a sigh and turned her attention to getting ready for the day. She had just stepped into a clean dress and was pulling the sleeves up to her shoulders when an abrupt choking noise caught her attention. She looked over her shoulder to see Bertrand in the doorway.  
“I'm sorry – I didn't mean – I didn't think you'd be-” She'd never heard him struggle so hard to finish a sentence; she simply raised an eyebrow and waited for him to gather his composure. “I... came to say I'll pick some soy blood up when I'm out. Do you have a preference?”  
“Anyone would think you'd never seen a woman's back before, Bertrand.” She turned to face ahead again, back turned on him. “Would you mind helping with the zip?” He came to stand behind her, taking hold of it with nervous hands, and she couldn't resist toying with him for a second. “Whichever direction you choose.”

He froze with an audible gulp, and for a moment she could have sworn she felt his lips close to her shoulder... but then the sensation passed and he moved backwards to run the zip up, closing her dress around her and leaving her strangely disappointed.  
“This isn't the dress you were wearing last night, so it would be a little pointless to _un_ zip it for you.”  
“Not pointless, exactly.” She turned to face him and was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze.  
“Ingrid... fly with me? Just a short flight, I... it's not good for you to be here all the time.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but nodded all the same.  
“Be positive.”  
“Hm?” She couldn't help but smile at his confusion.  
“The soy blood. If we _must_ keep to the diet – and it's probably best – then we may as well have a nice time of it.” He nodded, then pulled a heavy curtain aside, turned into a bat and disappeared through the window. She followed suit, pleased to find that he was waiting for her just outside. And then he really took off.

Ingrid had never really seen a courtship dance up close before, let alone found herself involved in one, but the way Bertrand was swooping around her left her in no doubt that he was trying to impress her. She did a lazy roll over the top of him, just to show that she could fly too, and he answered with a loop around her. Not to be outdone, she followed him through a range of aerial feats that would have made a bird jealous, until finally he drew to a halt and settled for flying in small circles around her. She made for the ground, and he followed, changing back into their natural forms as they touched the grass.  
“Was that-?” He strode towards her, a strange fire in his eyes, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.  
“If you want me... yes.” She pressed her lips against his in answer, and it wasn't until a few minutes later that they finally broke apart.

“I really should go for messages,” he murmured, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice, “but I'll be back as soon as I can.”  
“Fly fast,” she replied, “and be careful. I want you back here in one piece.” He didn't get a chance to answer as she kissed him, prompting a low growl that seemed to reverberate through them both.  
“Be positive,” he said at last, and it took her a moment to realise he was talking about the blood. “I'll try to get some O, too.”  
“You spoil me,” she purred.  
“I have to go.”  
“I'm not stopping you.”  
“...No. Alright, I'm...” He kissed her again, pulling back to chew on his lip anxiously. “I shouldn't have done that – that _flying –_ we can't... it's committing to something we can't have.”

Ingrid's shoulders slumped, but only for a moment before her trademark haughty expression reasserted itself.  
“We'll talk about it when you get back.” And then she walked into the house without him.

It was a struggle, but she didn't look back.

 


	10. Chapter 10

When Bertrand returned, it was with three crates of soy, a letter from Vlad, and a determined expression.  
“Ingrid, we can't-” She was ready for him; she cut him off.  
“While we're here, we're nobody, right?”  
“You'll never be nobody.” She glared fiercely at him and he gave in. “Yeah, I suppose so.”  
“Then there don't have to be rules, do there?”  
“We'll probably be going back soon, and then-”  
“Then let the promise stand until then. That flight... you offered me your heart and now you're taking it back.” She wasn't trying to make him feel guilty; she kept her voice as light as she could.  
“I want it to- I want you to have it. My heart. You _do_. But this letter could say _Come back now_ and we'd have to, and it'd be over.”  
“Then we should make the most of it.” He hesitated and she sighed. “Fine, open the letter.” She rooted through a crate until she found herself a soy blood she liked and unscrewed the lid, sliding one across the kitchen table to him. He ignored it in favour of opening Vlad's missive, reading it twice, and sliding it across to her.

_Bertrand,_

_Ha, ha. If you're going to be like that, maybe you're in no hurry to return._

_Seriously, though, you'd better look after my sister. And not the way you seem to have already 'looked after' her. You must have known the trouble it would cause if you got caught, and this... Just take care of her._

_Vlad.  
PS: Ingrid, just look after yourself, OK? It's going to take a little longer than I thought to sort this out. There's a baby to consider, after all, and that's not going to please most of the Elders around here._

She frowned; perhaps she should _tell_ Vlad she wasn't actually pregnant. Surely the scandal would be enough by now to save her from marriage. She looked up, intending to ask Bertrand if he agreed, and was stopped in her tracks by the look on his face. He'd drained his soy blood in one, it seemed, and now he was feasting his eyes on her, every feature clearly expressing his desire for her.  
“It's going to be a while.” She skimmed through the letter again and met his smouldering gaze once more. “What do you say? Are you going to _look after me_?”  
“Don't tempt me.”  
“Well, I'm hardly going to _beg_ , so tempting is pretty much the only option I have right now.” He frowned slightly, but he didn't look away. “Is it working?”  
“ _Ingrid_.” It was clearly meant to be a warning, but it came out as a groan.  
“We're already being punished because people think you got me _pregnant_ , Bertrand. You may as well at least touch me.” She stepped into his personal space. “Any way you want. That's not an offer I make lightly.” He let out another little moan and she took one more delicate step forward. “Do you want me?”

In a flash, he'd spun her round and pinned her against the wall.  
“So much, Ingrid, I just – you can't let me ruin your life by interfering with your marriage prospects-”  
“How about letting me make my own decisions about my body for once in my unlife?” He didn't have an answer to that and she pressed her advantage. “I'll make it very clear. I _want_ you, Bertrand, I didn't know I could still fall this hard for anyone. Repeat that and I'll deny it, but it's true. So if _you_ want _me_ – and I think we've established that – there's absolutely nothing to stop us both getting what we want.”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, eyes closed, face displaying just the merest fraction of his inner conflict... and then, as if he hadn't even thought about it until it happened, his lips brushed her shoulder and she let out an embarrassing little whimper. He pulled away, looking horrified, and she realised he thought she'd taken it as a threat.  
“Oh... _oh_. Please, Bertrand.” He seemed suspicious as he dropped another kiss , this time to the very top of her collarbone, as if he was expecting her to scold him, but she just wrapped her arms around his waist to pull him closer.  
“Quite fast,” he managed, between more kisses, growing in confidence as she continued to arch her body under his ministrations, “you're not just racing the clock... before we have to go back?”  
“Messages get lost,” she gasped, “We could take our time.”  
“Do you want to stop?”  
“You've kissed me before, Bertrand, I want everything you'll give.” The sound he made didn't sound human, a long drawn-out groan as he fought his better nature. Ingrid waited to see which instinct would emerge the victor.

At last, he spoke.  
“Not in the kitchen.” Then he swung her into his arms and carried her carefully up the stairs, her arms wrapped around his neck. The way he lowered her to her feet in the guest coffin room was almost reverent. He paused. “Are you sure about this?” She just smiled and turned her back on him.  
“Would you mind helping with my zip?” This time, as he unzipped her dress inch by inch, he _did_ press a kiss to the top of her back. She closed her eyes and relaxed under his touch as his fingers traced the newly-exposed skin.  
“Ingrid...” She turned to face him and their eyes locked before Bertrand looked away, embarrassed. “I have no way to make this safe for us.” Her eyes widened as she realised what he meant – this had never been a consideration in the romantic stories she'd pretended not to read as a child, when everything was just kissing and happily ever after – and he stepped back looking bittterly frustrated with himself. It was too close to dawn; he couldn't get to the nearest town and back in time, and where would be open?

Apparently, he wasn't expecting her to grab at his hips and pull him close again.  
“What are the chances?” He opened his mouth to warn her but she shook her head. “I've been taking precautions since I came back to live with Dad and Vlad. I figured if one of his friends managed to get me alone at least it was one less thing to worry about.”  
“I'm so sorry you had to live with that. If I'd known...”  
“It doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you can... we can... oh, Bertrand, just make my head spin, won't you?” He kissed her, and she took advantage of the way he wrapped his arms around her to let go of his hips and start unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers were playing over the exposed portion of her back again and it made every inch of her body tingle.

She tore at his shirt; only the knowledge that he couldn't have many with him stopped her from literally ripping it from his body.  
“Why did you stop wearing this one?” He let her push it from his shoulders and drop it to the floor.  
“Never off-duty.”  
“You write the rota.”  
“I know – _oh-_ ” She was running a curious thumb over his chest, pausing to circle a nipple and watching his muscles tense and then relax as her hands moved over him. “ _Oh_ , please- may I-?” His hands had found their way back to the opening at the back of her dress and she nodded urgently, melting under his touch as he slipped the dress down her front and carefully helped her to step out of it, keeping his eyes fixed resolutely on the dress until it was draped over a nearby chair. He reached out to close the curtains more securely before turning back to her, and Ingrid was surprised to find that she felt nervous. What if everyone who'd ever praised her looks had been lying all this time? What if Will had been some kind of weird blind exception? And none of them had ever seen her so vulnerable.

But then Bertrand was running reverent hands over her arms, down her back, trying to soothe, and all she could think of was how ridiculous it was that something they both wanted so much should be so fraught with insecurities.  
“Bertrand,” she suddenly gasped, and his hands came to a halt where they'd been running over her waist. “You know, don't you-?” It seemed important, out of nowhere, that he should understand how much trust she was placing in him.  
“That you're- yes. I guessed as much.” He began trailing kisses over her collarbone again. “You're making a very big decision here.”  
“It's just a social construct-”  
“One that could see you shunned in our world. Are you sure about this, Ingrid, are you really sure?” He'd pulled back to scan her face for doubts, but she took the opportunity to reach for the fastening of his trousers.  
“Please, Bertrand, trust me to know my own mind. I want you. Blood, don't make me say I need you.” He chuckled at that, teasing at her bottom lip.  
“You don't _need_ anyone, Ingrid.” She'd managed to get his trousers off, and he fought back with a slow, sensual trail of his fingers to the clasp of her bra, undoing it and casting the garment aside, where it was swiftly joined by everything else they were collectively wearing as a flurry of activity left them both naked.

“Oh blood,” Ingrid murmured, not even trying to hide the way her eyes were raking his body, “oh blood, oh blood.” He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, concerned.  
“Second thoughts?”  
“No.” She was defiant, but she knew he could tell she was lying. “Alright, yes, and third... I'm just nervous, that's all. But I want-”  
“Then what can I do to reassure you?”

She stopped trying to explain herself; he wanted to make her feel better? That had never been anyone's concern before, and she'd never expected anyone to care enough to ask the question. She supposed, really, she shouldn't be surprised that Bertrand was different. It did, however, leave her with a difficult question to answer. If she could work out why she was nervous, perhaps she could work out what they could do to fix it. Her fingers trailed absent-mindedly along his collarbone and over his shoulder, making him moan almost inaudibly. His head tilted away from her hand and she paused, curious, before running a finger up to caress his throat. He stayed where he was, unflinching.  
“Are you offering me your neck again, Bertrand?” He grimaced.  
“I knew you'd noticed, before.” He huffed his way through a breath he didn't need, then nodded. “Yes... yes, I am. I'm giving myself to you, regardless of whether you want to give anything back.”

She dropped a kiss to his neck, bewildered by his sudden openness, and took his hands, placing them carefully on her bare hips.  
“I want to give you everything.” She looked into his eyes and the tiniest nervous smirk graced her lips. “Well, you've _seen_ it all now, at any rate.”  
“Ingrid,” he groaned... and then his lips touched her collarbone and began to trail over her; such sweetness and gentleness it was hard to believe could come from Bertrand. His fingers brushed over her thigh, moving upwards, and she closed her eyes in anticipation.

Yes, she would give him everything.

* * *

Everywhere she touched, his skin caught fire.

It was strange, Bertrand reflected as they lay in the coffin together, that two creatures of the night, with no body heat to speak of, should be able to produce such intense warmth when they moved together like this. Ingrid was gazing up at him, unabashed wonder shining in her eyes, and it would have taken a far stronger man to resist pressing their lips together. Bertrand didn't even try.

She moaned against his lips and he smiled, rolling his hips slightly to make her repeat the soft noise. She clutched at his back, pulling him towards her, and he felt the fire streak down the path where her fingers had passed, warming him throughout. He lost control for a moment, moving faster as he watched her eyes close and her eyelids flutter.  
“ _Yes..._ ” The breathy word was enough to reassure him that she was enjoying what he was doing, even if she hadn't been rising to meet his every movement, trying to get impossibly closer. He could feel the moment her hands started scrabbling desperately at his back, as if she was trying to cling to some precipice above a lake of holy water – but that wasn't what she was afraid of at all.  
“It's alright,” he murmured, hardly caring if she took offence, “just let it happen, you're safe.” Her hands reached his shoulders instead and stilled, nails digging in slightly. He felt her body tense, tightening around him, and offered his neck as she tried to stifle her noises. He'd expected fangs, but instead her lips caught at his neck, raised red marks without the need for teeth. He recognised it for what it was; a claim, a demand – and yet she hadn't bitten him. He didn't know what to make of that.  
“I'm not hurting you,” she said, and for a moment he thought she'd read his mind, answered his unspoken question, “am I?” It was all too much; the heat, the sensation, the _concern_... He pressed his lips to hers again and groaned into her mouth as she continued to shiver with pleasure.

A few minutes later, as they lay together, his arms around her, her head resting on his chest, he spoke.  
“No,” was all he could think of to say, “you didn't hurt me.”  
“Good.” She brushed a curl away from his eyes. “I don't want to, ever again.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.  
“Are you... was that alright?”  
“No, Bertrand.” She must have felt him tense in horror, because she continued far more hastily than he would have expected from her. “That was incredible.”

There didn't seem to be much more to say, at that moment. He just held her until, spent, she fell asleep, and he followed close behind.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Ingrid woke slowly, arching her back in an attempt to relieve the unfamiliar ache in her bones, only to find that the motion pressed her closer against the man whose arms were holding her in place. She panicked, eyes flying open to come face-to-face with-  
“Oh, Bertrand.” She relaxed before realising that neither of them were wearing anything. Bertrand seemed aware of the fact already, judging by his lower body – but his eyes were full of concern.  
“Ingrid. How are you?” She closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the events of the last few hours in her head.  
“Better than I have been in a long time.” She smiled, and his face mirrored the expression in relief. “You?”  
“Luckiest man undead.” She wasn't sure how she came to be kissing him, much less how they got to the point where, some time later, she was clinging to his hips and crying out again. But as she snuggled into him, her head on his chest, she _was_ sure it was good. She was happy.

He seemed content to hold her, sated and smiling, for a few long minutes, before he glanced towards the window.  
“I'm fairly sure it's dark out. I should go for messages.” Still, it took him a couple of minutes to actually pull his body away from her and wrap it in clothes. Ingrid watched him without a hint of shame, then scrambled up and slipped on the same dress she'd been wearing the night before.  
“Wait, I'll send a message to Vlad, if that's alright.” She scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and handed it to him, unfolded.

_Dear Vlad,_

_Thought I should probably tell you you're not actually going to be an uncle. I lied because I don't want to marry Ramanga. That help our case at all?_

_Ingrid_

“He's going to hit the roof.” But Bertrand was chuckling as he spoke, folding the letter and tucking it into an envelope. “I'll be back soon.” She grabbed him and pulled him closer, pressing a possessive kiss to his neck before moving to claim his lips.  
“Don't go running off with any other vampiresses trapped in hopeless engagements.” He smiled and kissed her back.  
“That sounds highly inefficient. Why would anyone do that?”  
“Be safe,” she cautioned, and he took off. She briefly considered following him a little way, to do some more aerial dancing, but _oh blood_ she needed to sit down for a bit.

* * *

When Ingrid woke up again, there was somebody stroking her hair. She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, enjoying the feeling, before opening her eyes with a smile. She hadn't planned to fall asleep, but this was the comfiest guest coffin in the world and she was tired.

She half-expected to find Bertrand smiling back down at her, but he wasn't even looking in her direction, frowning thoughtfully at the wall. It didn't seem as if he even realised he was still stroking her hair.  
“Penny for your thoughts?” She offered, sitting up, and he jumped.  
“Oh, you're – I wasn't sure when you were going to wake up, but you looked peaceful. There's food downstairs.” She ignored that, reaching out to turn his face towards her.  
“You look worried.” He hung his head as much as he could with her hand still on his cheek. “What's wrong? Is there a message-?”  
“What kind of precautions?” He wouldn't meet her eye. “You said you'd been taking-”  
“I'm on the Pill. Breather invention-”  
“Oh, blood. Your father wouldn't have told you, would he-?” That was decidedly alarming.  
“Told me what?”  
“About... there _are_ ways for vampiresses to keep themselves from conceiving, I assumed you meant one of those, but... they're old herbal potions that last for weeks at a time. Otherwise, you have to have your partner wear-”  
“What are you saying, Bertrand?” She had a horrible feeling that she already knew.  
“The Pill doesn't work on vampire biology. It... just doesn't work that way.” Her stomach churned and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the sudden panic rising up inside her.  
“I should have read up on it, I should have checked- I mean, it's been a few days anyway, I forgot to pack the handful of pills I still had before we left-” She cut herself off with a strangled sort of noise and felt him lower himself back down beside her, fingers returning to stroke through her hair again. That was a surprise; she'd been braced for anger.  
“I should have made sure. Ingrid, I'm sorry if what we did has risked your health, or your happiness.” He hesitated, wrapping an arm carefully around her waist as he lay on his side next to her. “I'm still so honoured that you let me touch you, though. I don't regret it.”

Ingrid opened her eyes and turned towards him, but he seemed to be sincere. She managed a wry smile in response.  
“You might, yet.” He shook his head fondly, but he didn't reply, and after a few minutes Ingrid realised she had her own question to ask. “Why are you suddenly thinking about this now, anyway?” She'd never seen Bertrand look so awkward in his life.  
“I stopped at a pharmacy on the way to deliver that message. Presumptuous of me, I know, and of course there's no pressure for you to- I understand if it was just a one-time, well, two-time thing-” She blinked at him.  
“...Blood, did you buy condoms?” He nodded, embarrassed, but the way she practically threw herself at him soon cured that.

“You know – oh blood – they only work – Ingrid, stop – if I put one on?” She stopped stroking through his trousers and waited impatiently for him to go and fetch them, but it seemed he wasn't quite finished with their previous conversation yet. “What are we going to do about the first couple of times?” His eyes were wide and earnest, looking to her for answers; it seemed he had little idea of what to do in this situation. She hated herself, quietly, for the answer she had to give him.  
“There's nothing we _can_ do now. Not for vampires, I did learn that much. And no way of knowing yet. I'm sorry.” There was a long pause as he processed this information, filed away any emotion that might threaten to come with it. “Do you still...?” By way of answer, he leant over to retrieve a foil packet from the pocket of his coat.  
“If you'll have me.” She would. She really would.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Bertrand slipped away with the greatest reluctance to check for messages that night, and came home to find Ingrid moving very slowly around the kitchen.  
“I've hurt you,” he realised, and she looked up with a start.  
“No! No, I'm just a little... We may have overdone it a bit, I've pulled muscles I didn't know I _had_. I'm not as fit as you, obviously. _Don't_ apologise,” she warned him sternly as he opened his mouth to do just that, “I don't regret a moment of it.”  
“I didn't mean to cause you any pain.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. “I was going to take a shower, would you like to join me? It might help soothe the aches.”  
“Mm, that does sound nice.” He hesitated, then dropped the envelope he was holding onto the table, swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs, setting her down in the bathroom to help her out of the dress she'd thrown on.

Once they were both undressed, he got the shower to a decent temperature and pulled her in with him, kissing her shoulder before gently turning her to face the wall.  
“Bertrand-” She was nervous, he could tell, and though he placed a soothing hand on her back, it didn't seem to help. “What are you-?”  
“Shh. Brace yourself against the wall, I'm just going to give you a massage.” She relaxed at that, following his instructions and sighing contentedly as his hands ran over her back. He worked at the tension in her shoulders for a while, inexplicably shy, and then she turned to him with a smirk.  
“Not that this isn't _wonderful-_ ” She interrupted herself with a soft moan and took a moment to compose herself. “-but it's not really my back that aches.” He smiled at her – though as she turned back to the wall she couldn't see it – and began gradually working his way down to rub at the muscles of her thighs. She hissed in pleasure and he pressed a kiss to her hip, pleased to be making her happy despite the water from the shower streaming down his face.

“Bertrand-” She turned – he was kneeling in the spray of the shower by this point and couldn't exactly stop her – and pulled him up for a kiss. “While you're not wearing any clothes, perhaps we could...” She trailed off, but her meaning was clear enough.  
“You're insatiable.” He kissed her again. “And you'll ache more.”  
“Worth it,” she told him, and then squealed as the shower turned ice cold. “Oh- maybe not in here-” He hastily shut the water off and wrapped her in a towel.  
“Come on. We'll get warm and dry and then maybe we can try something a little less strenuous for you.”

She hadn't been sure how he intended for that to work, but then she found herself lying in the coffin with his head between her legs and _blood_ , she'd never imagined this could feel so good. Bertrand smiled against her skin as a moan escaped her, so she stopped holding back altogether and let him know exactly how he was making her feel.  
“ _Bertrand-_ ” she gasped, after several incredible minutes, as she utterly lost control. He kissed the inside of her thigh, then moved back up her body to smile gently at her. When she kissed him, she could taste herself, but she didn't mind as much as she'd thought she would. “That's it, I'm keeping you,” she told him, and his face fell.  
“I brought a message from Vlad-”  
“Does it say something awful?”  
“I don't know; I haven't read it.” She smiled, pulling him back down for another kiss as her free hand reached down his body.  
“Then we'll worry about it later. For now, let me make you happy.”  
“I _am_ happy, Ingr- agh.” The smile became a smirk, and she stroked him again. After that, he was surprisingly incoherent for such an eloquent man.

When she'd finished reducing him to a quivering wreck of a vampire, he rolled them so that she was lying curled against his side, her head on his chest.  
“I am happy,” he murmured, and she suspected that it wasn't meant for her to hear. He sounded sincere, but sad, almost afraid. She pressed a kiss to his skin, and closed her eyes for just a few seconds.

* * *

 

An hour later, she woke up to find Bertrand still lying beneath her, absent-mindedly stroking her hair. She sat up slowly.  
“Have you just been waiting for me to wake up? You could have moved me-”  
“I just woke up myself. It's a nice way to wake.” He kissed her, slowly and gently, and she melted into his embrace. “...We should probably go and read Vlad's letter, though.”  
“Mm,” she murmured in agreement, but it still took five minutes and Bertrand putting his trousers back on for her to finally rise from the coffin and dress. When they were both decent, they went down to the kitchen to find the message Bertrand had collected still sitting innocently on the kitchen table. After a moment's hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, ready to read over her shoulder, and she reached out to break the seal and unfold it.

_Dear Ingrid and Bertrand,_

_I've half a mind to stake you both. Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I'm not even sure this will make it easier to get you back. As it is, you'd better stay away for a while anyway, until I stop being angry with you._

_Vladimir Dracula Dominus_ Furious _Impirator_ _Electus._

She sighed.  
“Well, I suppose it could have been worse.” But Bertrand was nuzzling at her neck, apparently pleased about something. “What?”  
“Staying here means staying together a little longer. You can keep me for a bit after all.” That was when she realised they needed to talk about their relationship properly, once and for all.  
“Right. Living room. We're sorting this out.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

“I'm sorry,” Bertrand began quietly, when they were sat opposite each other in Mori's front room, “I didn't mean to presume...”  
“Don't be an idiot, Bertrand. Of course I want to be with you while we're here. But I meant what I said earlier, I want to keep you. Do you want this to be a longer-term arrangement?”  
“Of course I do,” he told her, but there was pain in his eyes. “But we _can't_ -”  
“Why not? Why _not_ , Bertrand, why can't we just be together? It's not as if I'm likely to be married off again, and I'm sure Vlad won't mind as long as we're happy-”  
“I can't make you happy forever, Ingrid. You'll realise you deserve better, soon enough.”  
“I l-” She cut herself off, startled. “...I love you,” she told him, and she meant it.  
“Don't. Please don't say that.”  
“Why? Do you not want me any more? Is it all getting too-?”  
“Because I love you more than anything, and I can't stand to hear you say that just to take it back later.”  
“Like you did with that courtship dance?” She regretted that the moment she said it, but Bertrand just hung his head, nodding miserably.  
“I shouldn't have done that. I just... for a moment, I forgot we couldn't, and I wanted to... I wanted to promise to comfort you when you were unhappy and protect you when you felt unsafe, and do all those things you deserve that nobody's ever done for you-” He didn't get any further as she moved across the room and kissed him before stepping back.

“I want you to do all those things. I want to do them for you. I want to always be there to show you how much you're really worth.” She knew this was beginning to sound uncomfortably like a proposal, but it had to be said. “I want you at my side for as long as you want to be there, not as long as you think is _proper_.”  
“Your father will never allow-”  
“I don't _care_ what he thinks. He tried to sell me off, Bertrand, more than once. Besides, it's the Grand High Vampire who has to be happy.”  
“Yes, and he's furious with us, Ingrid. You heard how he was when he thought I'd got you with child, and for all we know I actually _might_ have now- oh, blood, this is such a mess, I should never have-”  
“Shh. _We_ should never have, and you know we should have really. We were careless, and we might pay for it yet, but I don't regret it. Do you?” He shook his head reluctantly, and she sighed. “If... if I am pregnant, what do we do?”  
“...I don't think we'd be able to go back,” Bertrand told her sadly, “but beyond that... I believe there are ways, if you didn't want- but if you did, I'd be- either way, I'd be right beside you, if you still wanted me. And if you didn't want me there... I suppose I'd have to go, though I hope it doesn't come to that.”  
“But if I'm not- if we do go back, you'll leave me?” He closed his eyes, but his face was a picture of sorrow.  
“I might not be given a choice.”  
“Then let's not go back. We could just run away-”  
“I... Ingrid, I don't want you to lose your family, and if I'm honest, I don't want to lose my comrades or my purpose, either. Running away – _staying_ away _–_ has to be our last resort.”  
“I don't want to lose _you_ ,” she told him, and he pulled her down onto his lap, wrapping her in his arms.  
“I don't want to lose you either.” They fell silent, after that, with nothing more to say, until at last they realised they should probably eat something.

Dinner, such as it was, was a quiet affair, and Ingrid was beginning to worry that she'd ruined everything between them by the time Bertrand stood to wash up.  
“Are we alright, Bertrand?” He seemed surprised by the question, abandoning the dishes in the sink and wiping his hands on a teatowel before reaching out to hold her close.  
“I love you, too.” He placed a kiss into her hair and smiled sadly. “Of course we're alright, at least as far as I'm concerned.”  
“Will you just... hold me for a while?”

They ended up snuggled together on the sofa in the front room, Bertrand stroking absent-mindedly up and down her arm while she rested her head on his shoulder.  
“Do you think Vlad'll ever forgive us?” The moment she'd said it, she frowned, realising something didn't quite add up. “Wait, he knows it was a lie; why is he still cross with _you_?”  
“Vlad is many things; a great leader, a fair ruler, possessed of the Dracula looks. What he is not, I'm afraid, is particularly rational.” He pulled a face. “He'll come round eventually.”  
“I've ruined your unlife.”  
“You've given my unlife new meaning,” he argued, “a reason to keep going that isn't just trying to find the Chosen One, or trying to look after him. I've had nothing but work for four centuries, please don't apologise for changing that.”  
“But now you don't _have_ your work.”  
“Maybe I'll get it back. Maybe I won't. I'll survive, either way.” He kissed her softly. “Being exiled has never been so pleasant.”  
“You've been exiled before?”  
“Two or three times.”  
“Any good stories to share?”  
“I was with this girl, once.” She tensed; she didn't want to hear this story. Bertrand reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Her name was Ingrid Dracula, and she was definitely worth getting exiled for.” Ingrid kissed him for that.

“You know,” she told him, when at last they broke apart, “nobody would believe me if I told them Bertrand du Fortunesa was a hopeless romantic.”  
“Mm, you'll have to be the only one who gets to know, then.”  
“I like that idea.” She kissed his neck gently. “You know, I could bite you right now.”  
“You could,” Bertrand replied evenly.  
“You could bite me back.”  
“I am physically capable of doing so.”  
“Then...” she faltered, realising what she was suggesting, too late to stop. “We'd be bound, and they couldn't take you away from me.”  
“You deserve more than that, Ingrid.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then stood and made his way upstairs.

Ingrid sat for a moment, uncertain as to whether she should follow and suddenly unsure of the sleeping arrangements for the night. Her eyes fell on Bertrand's shroud, rolled up under a small end table, and her mind turned towards the little sewing kit Bertrand had pulled from a drawer in the dining room when one of the laces had tried to escape his boot, using a needle to thread it back in again. There'd been several scraps of fabric in there, too, if she remembered correctly.

Two hours later, she looked up from her work to see Bertrand standing in the doorway, looking confused.  
“Is that my shroud?” She nodded, suddenly afraid that she'd overstepped a mark. “You're... patching it?” Another nod. He came to sit beside her, the shroud draped over both of their laps as he traced one of the patches now resting on his knee. After a few moments of anxious silence, he spoke again. “Is that a hint?”  
“No! I just... I wasn't sure if you wanted me upstairs and I just thought, your shroud looks so thin and you do go travelling a lot, and I thought maybe you'd be warmer with a few patches...” She trailed off; he was tracing the outline of another patch, now, this one currently covering her thigh.  
“I didn't mean to make you feel unwanted. Of course you're welcome in the coffin; if either of us had to sleep downstairs, it would be me. And this... this is so thoughtful, thank you.”  
“Why do you keep saying I deserve more than you?” She asked abruptly, and he took a moment before answering, as if to adjust to the new topic of conversation.  
“Because you do. You deserve so much, Ingrid-”  
“What could I possibly deserve that's better than a man who loves me, a man who allowed his own honour to be questioned - despite being the most honourable man undead - just to protect me in my foolishness? A man who, even after I'd ruined his unlife, let me have the coffin and slept in a shroud on the floor? A man who showed me romance, and rose gardens, and respect? A good dancer?” She smiled, and he smiled shyly back before shaking his head.  
“Princes will fight each other for you, Ingrid Dracula. _Kings_.”  
“Let them fight. I only want you. If you'll have me.”  
“If _I'll_ have _you?_ ” He laughed, apparently stunned. “You're unbelievable. I love you.”  
“I love you too. Can we go back to the coffin now?”  
“Just to sleep,” he warned, as they both settled into the aforementioned coffin.  
“Mm. Alright. I _am_ very tired. We'll talk about your inferiority complex and my tendency to rush ahead in the evening.”

There was a long, quiet pause, and Ingrid thought he must already be asleep. She was just closing her eyes herself when he spoke, so softly she wasn't sure he even _wanted_ her to hear.  
“I do want you. I want... that. But you really shouldn't settle for me. I've done enough damage to your reputation, already.”  
“I love you, you idiot,” she told him, just as softly, and felt the way his body tensed beside her in the dark.  
“I thought you were asleep.”  
“Clearly.” She dared to move closer, then, snuggling against him. “Talk tomorrow, remember? Sleep now.” And with that, she squashed down the feeling of tiny bats fluttering in her stomach and followed her own advice.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The next evening, her stomach still felt full of fluttering baby bats. She told Bertrand as much, as they headed down for breakfast, and he nearly fell down the stairs.  
“Does that mean- are you- are you sure?” She frowned, unable to work out what he meant for a few moments.  
“Oh! Blood, no, Bertrand, even if I was I wouldn't _feel_ \- no, it's just an expression. You know, means I'm a bit nervous or excited.” He relaxed, pulling her into his arms when she reached the bottom of the stairs and resting his head on her shoulder.  
“Which is it?” She sighed.  
“I don't know. Let's just have breakfast, shall we?”

They ate in silence, both uncomfortably aware that they'd promised to talk things through tonight and oddly reluctant to do so now that the time was upon them. Bertrand braved it first, when they'd both finished eating and were sitting, staring at their plates.  
“You wanted to talk.”  
“Well, now I'm not sure,” she admitted, “I'm a little afraid of what I might say.”  
“You don't have to say anything,” he assured her, “and you don't have to be afraid of anything you do say.”  
“I _do_ have to say something, Bertrand.” She spent a moment trying to put her words in order. “Clearly we have different expectations for this... whatever this is, between us.” She soon realised that she should have spent a few _more_ moments thinking about it as Bertrand's face fell.  
“I see. I understand, and I'm honoured that you let me spend _this_ time with you. I hope you don't mind if I remain here to guard you until your return-?”  
“I'm not breaking up with you, Bertrand. This is exactly what I mean.”  
“I'm sorry, I'm... not sure I follow.” He looked as if it cost him to admit it; if he had a flaw, then, it was his pride.

“You see this as a short-term arrangement, a holiday fling of some sort, and I... I don't know if I can bear to lose you so soon.”  
“I don't- Ingrid, this is your whole future we're talking about-”  
“I want you to be _part_ of that future. I'm not saying you have to stay with me forever, but... can we just try, for a while?”  
“If I stay with you like this when we go back... blood, Ingrid, I don't know if I'll ever be able to let you go.”  
“Then don't.”  
“We'll never be allowed to be bloodbound-”  
“Mum and Dad never were. We can still be together, and you can still walk away if you want to, like Mum did... Please, Bertrand, just tell me how _you_ feel. What do you want?”  
“I want you.” He sounded so helpless. “I want to hold you and never let you go, because there's no-one like you, Ingrid, there never has been and there never will be. I want to protect you, not because you _can't_ protect yourself but because you shouldn't _have_ to. I want- I want all of that, and it scares me, because this is still new and surely I shouldn't already feel like it should be forever. And I can't-”

She cut him off, striding around the table to kiss him.  
“Follow me. You're overthinking things.” She was more than half tempted to take him up to the bedroom and stop his thoughts altogether, and indeed she wasn't ruling it out for later, but she had something else planned for right now. She led him out into the dark garden and stood, holding his hand and gazing up at the stars for a moment. “You're under no obligation,” she promised him, and turned into a bat, wheeling straight into a series of elegant loops. He stared, stunned, for a moment, hesitated... and launched himself after her.

Their previous aerial dance paled in comparison to this; Bertrand chased her, looping over and around her, and then rolled away so that she had to fly straight just to catch up with him. They duelled in the air, they soared, they swooped... Bertrand slipped sideways all of a sudden and hurtled towards the earth, stumbling as he landed and took his human form again. Ingrid followed, concerned, but he laughed.  
“I'm sorry. I'd have been happy to dance with you up there all night, but my shoulder...” He'd been rubbing at it every so often since the first night they'd spent here, but now he finally allowed his face to scrunch up in pain for a moment. “...old injury, but sometimes it plays up. Wing folded. Sure you still want me?” She kissed him, idiot that he was, and led him inside by his uninjured arm, straight upstairs.

“Can you get your shirt off on your own, or is your shoulder too painful?” He raised an eyebrow and began to attempt it, but allowed Ingrid to help before gently pushing him down into the coffin on his front.  
“What are you doing?” She frowned.  
“Getting a better look. And... if you like, I could try massaging it, like you did for me.” He hesitated, then nodded. She knelt at his side in the coffin and ran her hands carefully over his broad shoulders, noticing the way he winced as she touched certain spots and making a note to avoid those if she could. As she began to knead at the muscles there, he sighed deeply, closing his eyes in pleasure.  
“So...” he let out a sharp hiss as she put pressure on his old wound, but shook his head when she asked if she should stop. “No, it's... it'll help, it just stings. So. Was that...?”  
“A promise?” She asked, when she realised he wasn't planning to continue. “If you want it to be. I mean, I meant it as a promise, but I understand if you didn't-”  
“I knew what I was doing when I took off.” He rolled suddenly, onto his back, and pulled her down to wrap his uninjured arm around her. “You make me reckless, Ingrid Dracula. But I love it.”  
“Stay with me tonight?” He frowned, confused. “I mean, you shouldn't go for messages with your shoulder as it is. And we wasted a lot of good cuddling time last night.”

Bertrand smiled and kissed her gently, the kiss gaining momentum of its own until she was more or less straddling his hips as his arm stayed around her waist.  
“Mm. The possibilities,” she smirked at him, and he laughed.  
“I'm not sure we can do that without wrenching my shoulder, love.” He hesitated for a moment, then bit his lip. “I'm more than willing to try, though, if you are.”  
“Always.” She kissed him again. “Where are the supplies?”

* * *

 

She'd never felt so powerful as she did in that moment. Bertrand writhed helplessly underneath her, desperately trying to create friction between their bodies, but she simply sank down onto him, tortuously slowly, and waited for him to surrender.  
“Ingrid- please-”  
“Please what-?”  
“Please move, Ingrid, please, _blood_ , I need you-” She gave him what he wanted – she hardly wanted to deny him, after all, or herself – and relished the way he fell apart, incoherent and desperate. Twice he reached up for her with his injured arm and hissed in pain, but then moaned as she tried to stop, to check if he was OK. “Don't stop- please don't-”

When, at last, they both lay exhausted and satisfied in the coffin, Ingrid spoke.  
“You need to rest that shoulder. Why didn't you tell me it was hurt? You've been rubbing at it for days, but I just thought it was from where you slept on it that first night – there's no scar-”  
“Shh, don't fuss. It's nothing to worry about. I probably should stay off the wing for a few nights, though.” She nodded.  
“You're going to have to tell me where I can collect the messages from, then.”  
“What- no, it's dangerous, if Vlad's got anyone watching the place they're expecting me-”  
“Vlad's going to be even more angry if we start ignoring his messages. And we can hardly tell him you wrenched your arm in a courtship dance after too much-” Bertrand kissed her to stop her finishing the sentence, and when she pulled away it was with a chuckle. “You're a prude for such a good dancer.”  
“Oh, shush.” But he was laughing too. “You're incorrigible, for a lady. But you still can't go for messages. With respect, you're not used to hiding, you don't know all the tricks to make sure you're not found or followed or seen. Please, Ingrid. A few days won't hurt.” She pretended to consider the idea for a moment.  
“That depends on whether staying here means cuddles or not.”  
“I'm afraid, if you stay, you might have to submit to being cuddled.” She smiled fondly at him.  
“Hmm... well, I suppose I can do that.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

Bertrand's arm healed quickly – though Ingrid made him rest it for a few extra days before allowing him to fly again – and he returned to his daily checks for messages. None came, however, and after a week of nothing he was clearly beginning to get worried.  
“What if something's happened?”  
“He's just angry, Bertrand, he's throwing a strop.”  
“What if he's been attacked?”  
“Then there's probably a little more dust in the palace – I hate to say it, but my little brother can look after himself.”  
“How can you be so calm?”  
“What else am I supposed to do? We can't help him from here.” She realised she'd said the wrong thing as Bertrand's face set in a grim line.  
“Then I have to go back. Just to make sure.”

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, though she couldn't pretend she was surprised.  
“You can't. He's furious with us both.”  
“If he's in trouble-”  
“And if he's not? You're just going to walk back in there?”  
“Yes. I just need to be sure-”  
“What about me, Bertrand? I don't even know how to get word to Vlad if you don't come back-”  
“I-” Now _that_ was a familiar expression, albeit one that she hadn't seen in a while. He was torn between his duty to Vlad and his affection for her. “...What do you suggest?”  
“At least wait a few more days.” He hesitated for a long time, but at last he shrugged and agreed.

Another week rolled by before she found Bertrand unpacking a sword and tucking it into his belt, below his travelling cape.  
“You're going back.”  
“Yes.” He added a stake to his arsenal and turned to kiss her hair. “I have to.” She sighed.  
“Of course you do. Wait a moment.” She could see the shock in his features when she returned with her cloak and a stake of her own. “He's _my_ brother,” she pointed out, though they both knew that wasn't the real reason she was going with him. He looked as if he wanted to argue, but wisely decided against it.  
“Come on, then. If nothing's wrong, it'll be safest to leave the moment it's dark so we can get back here before dawn.”

They landed at the palace to find the air still and quiet.  
“Could be a good sign,” Bertrand conceded, “could mean we're too late.” Ingrid knew she'd blame herself if that was the case, even if Bertrand didn't. They stole into the palace side by side, only to be immediately ambushed.

 


	16. Chapter 16

_They stole into the palace side by side, only to be immediately ambushed._

* * *

 

“Cap- _Bertrand_?”  
“Bellamy. Situation report, please.”  
“Situation normal, except, er, technically two intruders... we didn't know you was coming home, sir.”  
“Situation normal? You're sure?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“...We're not coming home. We'll be off-”  
“Afraid not, sir.”  
“I'm sorry?”  
“Well, you're still technically intruders- _armed_ intruders,” he added with a frown, as he noticed the sword and stakes, “so I'm afraid I'll have to detain you.”  
“And if we fight our way out?” Ingrid challenged him... but more guards were appearing from every direction and Bertrand put an arm out to hold her back.  
“Ingrid, don't. I'm sorry; you were right. We should never have come back here.” He straightened to meet Bellamy's eye. “To the cells, then?” The unfortunate guard nodded awkwardly.  
“When I tell Lesauvage, though, I expect His Grandness will want to see you.”

When they arrived in the dungeons, accompanied by no fewer than six uncomfortable-looking guards, Bellamy unlocked a cell and went to unlock another.  
“Thank you,” Bertrand said pleasantly, as if he were declining a cup of tea, “but we'll share.” Then he took Ingrid by the arm and guided her into the cell ahead of himself, closing the door behind them. Bellamy looked as if he was going to protest, then shrugged helplessly and locked them in. They heard him giving orders for two guards to stay outside the door, and then he was gone, presumably to tell Lesauvage – and therefore Vlad – who they'd caught.

Ingrid was gazing forlornly at the hanging cage outside the cell.  
“That seems like a long time ago, now,” she murmured, and he risked pulling her into his arms and holding her close.  
“That didn't help my shoulder much, either. Obviously, it got better, but I've spent more comfortable afternoons.” She pressed a kiss to his neck, and he let her. “I'm sorry I brought you back here.”  
“I'm not. Maybe it's time we found out our fate anyway.” He kissed her, beautiful, surprisingly forgiving soul that she was, and she clung to him, kissing back until there was a discreet cough from beyond the bars. They broke apart in a hurry.

“Captain du Fortunesa. Lady Dracula. His Grandness wishes to see you immediately.” Lesauvage had brought Bellamy back with him, and the pair of them were doing a very good job of not gaping openly at their prisoners. The same, unfortunately, could not be said of the five guards immediately behind them.  
“Thank you, Captain Lesauvage. Lead the way.” They unlocked the door, apparently still perplexed by Bertrand's polite but casual demeanour and Ingrid's uncharacteristic silence, and formed up around them. He noticed, as they passed through the door to the dungeon, that the two guards posted there fell into step too. How dangerous did they think the pair of them _were_? But then, they were probably right, so Bertrand could hardly blame them for being as cautious as he'd trained them to be.  
“I feel sick,” Ingrid whispered, and Bertrand squeezed her hand briefly before letting go again. The last thing they needed to do was rile Vlad up any more.

“Are you two _completely_ incapable of doing as you're told?” Vlad greeted them furiously as they were marched into the hall. “You're lucky you didn't run into Dad, he's almost as angry as I am. But I was trying to help you, do you have any idea-?”  
“And we came here to help _you_.” Ingrid's voice surprised him; he glance at her only to see that she was in full-on bickering-sibling mode and seemed utterly uncowed by the fact that the brother she was arguing with was the Grand High Vampire. “When you didn't reply to Bertrand's messages, he thought you'd been attacked. He refused to leave you to suffer if so.”  
“And dragged you back into danger instead? I told you to look after her, Ber-”  
“I wouldn't let him go without me.” She stepped a fraction closer to Bertrand and their fingers touched briefly; she seemed reassured by the contact, however fleeting. Vlad, however, seemed even more angry, if that was possible.

“The guards tell me you insisted on sharing a cell with my sister, Bertrand. Is there something I should know?” He didn't dare to move a muscle, even to glance around him as the guards took up posts around the edge of the room, out of earshot. “ _Tell me the truth_ ,” Vlad ordered, and Ingrid's fingers brushed his again. From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod.  
“I love her,” he said, and closed his eyes to await the stake he was sure was coming. Instead of cold, pointed wood, however, he felt delicate fingers close around his own.  
“And I love him back,” Ingrid told her brother, defiant as ever, and Bertrand opened his eyes to smile at her.  
“So... it was true? Ramanga had the right idea? And Dad?”  
“No! We'd only ever kissed a few times when we were thrown out-” She realised too late what she'd implied, and Bertrand braced himself as the Chosen One rounded on him.  
“And since then, Bertrand? Have you touched my sister?”  
“I-”  
“We danced in the air,” Ingrid interrupted, “I've made a promise I don't mean to break. Does anything else really matter?” Her brother ignored her.  
“ _Bertrand_.” He barely dared to meet the Chosen One's gaze. “What is the truth of this?”  
“Your sister speaks true, Grandness. We... twice we have promised ourselves to one another. And... we acted as such a promise allows.” Ingrid squeezed his hand reassuringly, but it was Vlad's reaction he awaited.  
“...Lesauvage, take them back to the cells. One _each_ , this time.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

A few hours after they left Vlad, a visitor came to the dungeons. Ingrid moved away from the bars, where she'd been talking quietly to Bertrand about nothing, and when she saw who it was she kept going until her back hit the far wall of her cell.  
“Well, don't you make a pretty sight... for a silly, ungrateful little slut.”

Ramanga leered at her through the bars, eyes wandering even as he bared his fangs in a gesture of disgust. Bertrand hissed at him from the next cell, but Ramanga only laughed derisively.  
“You don't scare me, you disgraced fool. You can't do anything to keep me away from your woman. You couldn't stop me going in there and making her _scream_ one last time before you're both executed-”  
“She's the Grand High Vampire's sister,” Bertrand snarled desperately, “you touch her and it's you who'll be executed.”  
“Brave words, from a man in a cell. Besides, who's to know? It's the word of a respected Clan Leader against two desperate convicts who've already been caught lying to the Chosen One before. Who do you really think they'll believe?”  
“I imagine they'll believe their own ears,” came a deceptively mild voice from the doorway of the dungeons, and Bertrand glanced across for the merest second before fixing his eyes back on Ramanga, now whirling round but still too close to Ingrid's cell door.

There stood the Count, towering in fury.  
“I see now why she was in no hurry to marry you. The guards heard everything, too. Lock him in the cage,” the Count ordered, and four guards were upon the Clan Leader before he could even react. Snarling and hissing, he was bundled into the hanging cage and locked in. “And if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak to my daughter outside of that cell.”  
“We'll have to lock the outer door, sir, and two of us stay with you-”  
“Yes, yes, do that.” It was done, and as soon as Ingrid stepped out of her own cell she came to stand with her back against the bars of Bertrand's, leaning backwards casually so that he could take one of her hands and squeeze it in the only comforting gesture he dared give.

“...It seems I owe you an apology.” Ingrid dropped his hand in shock.  
“What?”  
“Well, I understand now why you felt uneasy about... the way things were. And now it seems you've found yourself a new champion, and I implied some very hurtful things about you both. I do want you to be happy, Ingrid.” She stood stock-still, listening to her father's words in disbelief. The Count sighed. “Walk with me, a moment.” MacFarlane made as if to protest, but the two Draculas were walking _away_ from the door, clearly seeking privacy. Bertrand couldn't hear what they said, but Ramanga in his cage evidently could, because he began to laugh.

“Ha! Do you know what he's asking her, half-fang?” He hissed it, and the Draculas didn't seem to notice. “He asks if you forced her, if you have been taking her against her will. You stand accused of rape, _honourable_ Captain.” He didn't want to believe him, but he could see the truth of it in the way Ingrid reacted.  
“No! Blood, no.” She didn't bother keeping her voice down. “I love him. I gave myself to him willingly, and he to me.” She faltered, moving back towards Bertrand's cell and reaching through the bars for his hands. “That is... Vlad didn't ask you to...?”  
“If he had, do you really think we'd be in this mess?” He shook his head. “Nobody ordered to me to do or feel anything for you, Ingrid, except to keep you safe when we were gone. I did my best.”  
“And you're sure-?” The Count was addressing his daughter again, and Bertrand felt sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone believing him capable of removing Ingrid's choice in the matter that way. _Had_ she felt pressured? But she'd practically had to jump him-  
“I gave my full consent, Daddy, something I never did to my engagement with Ramanga.” Her father at least had the decency to look _slightly_ ashamed of himself. Stepping forward, he embraced his daughter awkwardly for a moment before moving away again.

“I'll have a word with Vlad; he needs to be informed about...” he flicked a disdainful glance towards the cage, “...recent developments. For now, I'm afraid you have to go back to the cell before I can leave.” Ingrid nodded, but before she returned to her own cell she brought her face close to the bars of Bertrand's and waited for him to do the same so that she could kiss him, slowly and gently.  
“I love you,” she whispered, and he whispered it in return before she was locked away again.

The Count waited impatiently for the door to be opened, and was let out. The two guards stayed in the room, keeping a wary eye on Ramanga, with two more at the door. Ingrid didn't seem to want to talk to Bertrand in front of the Clan Leader, so she fell silent and he heard her sit down at the back of her cell once again. He followed suit. Surely Vlad would come around?

 


	18. Chapter 18

Bertrand was pacing his cell; she could hear his footsteps. Mildly irritating though the sound of those boots on stone was becoming, she understood his frustration. Her father had left what felt like hours ago, though it was probably only one or two, and it was hard not to become more anxious about their fate the longer they waited. At least Ramanga had fallen quiet at last, apparently tiring of hissing poison at the pair of them.

Just as she was on the verge of snapping at Bertrand to sit down and let her think in peace, the door swung open and she scrambled to her own feet. The door unlocked with a click and MacFarlane swung it open to reveal Vlad standing on the other side of Ramanga's cage and Lesauvage releasing Bertrand from the cell beside hers. She stepped out warily, relieved when Bertrand came straight to her side.  
“Dad told me what happened,” the Chosen One told them bluntly, “and I understand now why you went to such lengths, both in lying to me, and in posting that ridiculous guard rota, Bertrand. Ingrid, I'm so sorry. I should have paid more attention to your concerns. And Dad tells me... he says you do seem to have something very special. He's confident that no harm has been done, which I have to admit is an abrupt change of tune, so he's probably up to something... anyway. You're free to go. Ramanga will be dealt with,” he ignored the Clan Leader's hissing, “and you'll both be reinstated to your former titles immediately.”

“If I may, your Grandness,” Bertrand ventured, “might I ask to resume my post alongside Captain Lesauvage in a week or so? An old injury of mine is giving me some trouble of late and I want to be sure it heals properly before I resume my duties.” Vlad nodded agreeably, and Ingrid decided to push her luck.  
“And Bertrand and I? Do you object to our relationship?” Her little brother sighed wearily.  
“As long as I don't have to hear gory details, how _could_ I object? Bertrand's been nothing but good for you lately. But Dad was under the impression you had a thing for a Clan Leader from my coronation dance.”  
“Bertrand in a mask,” she told him airily, “protecting me from Ramanga and his cronies. Again.”  
“I give up on the pair of you,” he told her, but he smiled as he said it. “Now, sunset's not for a few hours, but when night falls I suggest you go and collect your belongings from wherever you've been hiding and come home. We've missed you.”

* * *

 

They'd meant to stick to the plan – land, retrieve belongings from inside, go home – but Ingrid caught at Bertrand's arm as soon as they arrived back at the little cottage.  
“This is where we first danced in the air, properly I mean,” she pointed out, “once more, for old times' sake? We'll go easy on your shoulder.” They rolled, and dived, and soared, and then Ingrid caught at him with her wing-claws and sent them both barrelling towards the ground, barely giving him time to roll them so that he landed underneath her as they resumed human form. Then, barely aware of what he was doing, he rolled them over again, pinning her to the damp grass, and kissed her neck. She moaned, scrambling for his belt, and before he knew what was happening they were both crying out, clinging to each other as they rode out the pleasure.

“Fog,” Bertrand realised as he came back to his senses. “I shouldn't have done that.”  
“Done what? Kissed my neck, or finished inside me again?” Ingrid seemed unworried, lazy even, but Bertrand panicked as he remembered.  
“Oh, blood, I forgot the- I'm so sorry, Ingrid. For both of those things.”  
“Really? That's a shame. I rather enjoyed them. You can kiss my neck whenever you want to. And I more or less jumped you, we can both share the blame for what happened.” He stood carefully and held out a hand to help her up. “I'll need to change before we go back; my dress is muddy. And a shower might be in order.”

In the end, they barely managed to gather up all their belongings and fly home in time for the dawn. When they landed, they both moved as if to go in different directions – Bertrand to his room, and Ingrid to her own – before realising just how wrong that felt.  
“Better put our things away,” Ingrid told him reluctantly, “but then if you want... stop by my room?” He glanced around warily before kissing her on the cheek.  
“I'll be a few minutes.”

* * *

 

He was back a minute and a half later, and Ingrid swung the door open with a smile at his knock.  
“You were quick. Couldn't stay aw-? You've still got your stuff.” Bertrand shuffled awkwardly.  
“It turns out that my room is technically the Captain of the Guard's room, so Lesauvage- I, he says all my stuff's still stored somewhere but he doesn't know where. I was just wondering if- if you wouldn't mind, could I leave my things with you while I go and make alternative arrangements?”  
“Of course. Or you could bring your things in and forget about alternative arrangements. We can get a bigger coffin at some point, but at the moment there are still two singles in mine, you're more than welcome to stay.”  
“We can't-”  
“Vlad gave us his blessing, Bertrand, what more do you want?” He sighed heavily and shifted the weight of his bag in his hands.  
“...Yes. Please. At least for today. Thank you.”

He tried to get into the spare coffin, but Ingrid patted the tiny space beside her in invitation and he immediately changed course, carefully settling into the smallest amount of space he could possibly take up and kissing her shoulder gently.  
“I wasn't sure you'd want-”  
“Don't be ridiculous, Bertrand. Haven't I told you I want to keep you?” The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile.  
“Ah, yes, for my clever tongue. Would you like me to remind you-?”  
“Mm, I don't think my poor body would stand it. It's been a long, tiring night. But there will be other nights, if you want-”  
“Thank blood. It's not that I don't love making you squeal, but you've worn me out, Ingrid. I adore you.”  
“Because I wear you out?”  
“Because you're you.” Still, it seemed she really had worn him out at the cottage, because within minutes he was asleep, and she followed suit.

 


	19. Chapter 19

The next night saw them sitting together in the rose garden at the centre of the maze, where so much had started.  
“You're sure you want me?” Bertrand ventured cautiously, and Ingrid laughed.  
“You're not just good for annoying my dad, you know. I am actually quite fond of you. And you want me?”  
“You're not just good for starting rumours and scandals, you know.” He kissed her quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and smiled at her as he pulled away. “You mean the world to me.”  
“Mm.” She nuzzled against his neck, murmuring against his skin. “One day, can we be bloodbound?” He stiffened, apparently taken aback, and for a moment she thought he'd taken offence.  
“One day,” he breathed at last, “I'd love to.” He kissed her again, and she threw her arms around him.  
“Not too long,” she managed between kisses, “don't make me wait too long. I love you.”  
“If your father agrees... yes. Soon.”  
“You're serious?”  
“I- yes. Yes, blood, yes, I am.”

He swept her up into his arms, then, spinning her around as they both laughed, exhilarated by the crazy decision they'd just made.  
“Will you?” She blinked, confused.  
“Will I what?”  
“Marry me. Will you marry me, Ingrid?”  
“Oh- oh blood, yes, I will.”  
“I know it's sudden-”  
“We've been through enough, haven't we? We know how we feel-”  
“Yes. But- I don't want to put you in the same position as Ramanga-”  
“I suggested it, Bertrand. You're not forcing my hand.”  
“I never will. Oh, blood, Ingrid-”

It seemed like mere moments after that before she was lying with her back pressed against the stone seat of the bench and her body pinned down by Bertrand, moving sensually on top of her without having displaced even a single item of clothing as he kissed at her neck and nipped gently at her shoulders. She kissed back urgently, clawing at his back, trying to get closer.  
“Can we go back to our room?” She murmured at last, and he paused, apparently confused. “I'm not trying to stop this, Bertrand. Far from it.” He smiled gently at her, then gathered her into his arms and took off back towards the palace at breakneck speed. Such was his enthusiasm that Ingrid felt quite nauseous by the time he set her down on the front step.  
“Are you alright?” He asked, as she stumbled. She nodded weakly.  
“Fine. Let's get upstairs.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there was ever a chapter that was going to disappoint people... this is it.  
> It's also the last chapter before the epilogue...

A few weeks passed in peace before Bertrand came off-duty to find that Ingrid was nowhere to be seen. Acting on a hunch, he sought her out in the rose garden, hardly surprised to see her sitting on the stone bench. What did surprise him was the way she was hunched over, knees to her chest and feet on the seat, staring into the middle distance. It took her a few moments to realise that he was there, but when she did she glanced across with a tiny, uncertain smile.  
“They're still talking about me, aren't they?”

He hesitated; she seemed upset already, without his being blunt about the gossip- but then, he didn't want to lie to her. He sighed.  
“There are rumours going around that you _were_ pregnant and that's why you were exiled, but then you miscarried and came home. The good news is that it will probably make it quite hard for your dad to marry you off for a while. The bad news is that it might make it hard for you to _ever_ make a worthy match.”  
“You have a very strange interpretation of bad news, especially considering that you _are_ my worthy match and we're supposed to be getting bloodbound at some point.”  
“Well, what's _your_ idea of bad news?” She hesitated.  
“I have some you probably won't like too much. Do... you want me to start with the good news?”  
“If you have some, certainly.”  
“The good news is... they won't be saying I miscarried for much longer.” He'd been running a finger absent-mindedly over the edges of a rose's petals, but now he froze, turning towards her.  
“And the news I won't like?” He managed to keep his voice fairly even.  
“...I'm... I mean, when we... the first couple of times, I think, or maybe when we went back...”  
“Ingrid, are you...?”  
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, and she couldn't look at him as she said it, eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

There was a moment of absolute silence, and then he was wrapping her in his arms, kissing her hair and murmuring to her.  
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry-”  
“I'm not hurt, Bertrand. Just... pregnant.”  
“But if- or are you going to-? But either way... won't it hurt?”  
“Only for a little while. You're not angry with me?”  
“Aren't _you_ angry with _me_?”  
“No. No, I'm feeling surprisingly calm, actually.” That could be good, or it could be shock. He couldn't know.  
“...Do you know what you want to do?”

* * *

 

“Bertrand... Bertrand, I don't feel so calm any more.” He was right there, holding her hand, offering reassurance as her head began to spin, guiding her towards the bench in the rose garden.  
“Here, sit down before you fall. Is this about the pregnancy?”  
“I- oh blood- can we-? I don't know if- Bertrand-”  
“It's OK. It's OK, Ingrid, this is why we kept it quiet. Shh. Try not to panic, and when you've calmed down a bit we'll talk about it, but you should know right now that I'm with you, no matter what.”  
“I don't- but I still- I can't-”  
“It's going to be alright, love. Come here.” He pulled her into his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Gradually, wrapped in his embrace, she began to relax a little.

“I... a week ago I was so sure I could do anything, we could... we could do whatever we wanted. I was so sure I could cope with this, Bertrand, I thought I could... this was going to be my chance to be a better mother than Magda was. But what if I'm worse?”  
“Ingrid, I've met your mother. You couldn't be worse than that. You'd be a wonderful mother, I'm sure. But if you're not ready for that yet – you're so young, Ingrid, you've got so long to do these things, if you want – we can still stop it. You can still change your mind.”  
“I want- I don't know what I want. All I can think about is... this baby would be yours and mine and... ours. I can't stop picturing how they'd look, wondering if they'd have your smile or my eyes or... they'd be so perfect, Bertrand, and they'd... would they love me?”  
“I'm sure they would. But lots of people love you. That can't be the only reason you make your choice, or you might end up resenting it.”  
“I... it's a lot to think about, and I have been thinking, Bertrand, really I have, but... now I'm just scared. I'm scared I'll mess things up, I'm scared I can't deal with having a baby-”  
“You're not alone, Ingrid, you'll never be left alone to deal with things. Remember that, and just... Do you want to?”

She remained silent for several long minutes, considering her options. Financially, she was certain that there would be no trouble; her brother was the Grand High Vampire, after all, and perhaps even her father would allow her some share of the Dracula wealth. She had a home, assuming she wouldn't be kicked out of it again when her condition was discovered. But there were other things to consider besides money. There was a potential child to consider.

She could get rid of it, she knew; the baby was barely more than a clump of cells, and once it was gone she could pretend that nothing had happened, could go on as usual – and Bertrand seemed to be right behind her, no matter what. But part of her felt the same longing she sometimes caught in Bertrand's eyes, the longing to meet this bundle of cells, to hold the child it would become in her arms, to read them stories and care for them. Ingrid had never let fear stop her from getting what she wanted before; she didn't intend to start now.

“I... I'm going to try my best to be a good parent. And if not... they'll have you?”  
“You'll both have me.”  
“Then... oh, blood, let's have a baby.”  
“You're sure?” She looked up into his eyes and smiled weakly.  
“Don't you want to?”  
“Oh, Ingrid. Of course I- I mean, you can still change your mind, I'm not the one having it-”  
“Shhh. As long as you're sure... I'm sure.” She could have this, this family with him. It could all work out. Between them, they could be happy.

 


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I lost you all with that last chapter :( Hope you enjoyed the story anyway, feedback of any sort appreciated...

“Ingrid.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed his lips to the mark where he'd bitten her on their bloodbinding day just a few weeks previously, fingers stroking gently at her hips. She turned and glared at him, though there was no true anger in it.  
“I've told you, not in front of Carys.” He stepped back.  
“Sorry. How _are_ my favourite ladies today, anyway?” Ingrid smiled down at the child in her arms.  
“Are you going to tell Daddy what you said earlier?” The little girl blushed and buried her face against Ingrid's shoulder.  
“Hey, why so shy? It's only me. Come here.” The child held her arms out obediently and allowed Bertrand to lift her into his own arms. “You can tell me anything, cherie, you know you don't have to be scared of me.”

“Jettem papa,” she murmured at last, still blushing, and Ingrid beamed proudly at him. It took him a moment to realise what he'd just heard.  
“Did you just say-?” Carys had mastered 'wuvvu mummy' and 'wuvvu daddy' just a few days earlier, though it came so hot on the heels of her first words that they were fairly sure she considered the little phrases as single words in their own right. But now- “Did you just tell me you love me in _French_ , Carrie?” She smiled in response to his delighted grin, rather than what he was saying, but he spun her around and made her giggle, hoisting her over his head as she squealed for joy. He couldn't be prouder of his little girl.

“Je t'aime, Bertrand,” Ingrid told him, coming to stand with the rest of her little family. “Oh – but you might have to give up your daughter for a couple of hours, Dad's demanding some quality time with his favourite grandchild.” Carys was his only grandchild, of course, but the Count doted on her. Much as Bertrand wanted to spend some time with his daughter, he could wait a few hours if it meant he and Ingrid got to spend some grown-up time together.  
“Je vous aime, mes filles.” He kissed Carys on the head and then spotted the Count bearing down on them. “Do you want to go and hear some stories with Grandpa?”  
“Apapa!” She hadn't quite got the hang of 'Grandpa' yet, but she was very young and very clever. She'd get there eventually. He handed her over with a grin and another fond little kiss. He and Ingrid waved her off as the Count made his way back towards the throne room, murmuring nonsense to the baby, and then Ingrid heaved a sigh of relief.

“Tired, love?” He pressed another kiss to her neck, now that he was allowed, and she shook her head.  
“No more than you must be. We can get some sleep while Dad's got Carrie.” He nodded.  
“Why do you seem relieved to hand her over? You're not... finding it too much, are you? I can stop working-”  
“You barely work three nights a week as it is. It's just that she's probably about to need changing and I thought I might have to do it before Dad took her.” A noise of fond disgust came echoing down the corridor, and Bertrand grabbed his new wife's hand to whisk her up to their room before they could be dragged back in for the messy task.  
“Well, it's his turn. You're so wonderfully cunning.”  
“I try. So, how tired are you?” Bertrand noted the wicked twinkle in her eye, and smiled.  
“Hmm, I think I could manage one more activity before we sleep...”  
“I was hoping you'd say that.” She pulled him close to her and began backing towards the coffin. “Let's dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - hopefully I'll be back with more fic soon (I take requests, within reason) but I also have a huge back archive on fanfiction.net (same penname) if you want to check any of that out.


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